Sour smell of wood smoke
seaweed flayed and dried
upon the rocks
those huddled stones
prone and obeisant to the grey sea
And there
a star that is settling
into the indifferent waves
leaving us cold and bereft
soon to be entwined
with the night
But do not despair
We will wake with the dawn
bring the candle of hope
in our hands
and much peace
A solemn and ocean-deep peace
shared
with every sentient being
in time
and every being departed
from time
The moon has its quarters
the sun its seasons
I have only this tenuous grasp
on life
a primal sense of loss and love
and the dull roar of the Pacific
in my ear
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 11:28 PM UTC
Sour smell of wood smoke
seaweed flayed and dried
upon the rocks
those huddled stones
prone and obeisant to the grey sea
And there
a star that is settling
into the indifferent waves
leaving us cold and bereft
soon to be entwined
with the night
But do not despair
We will wake with the dawn
bring the candle of hope
in our hands
and much peace
A solemn and ocean-deep peace
shared
with every sentient being
in time
and every being departed
from time
The moon has its quarters
the sun its seasons
I have only this tenuous grasp
on life
a primal sense of loss and love
and the dull roar of the Pacific
in my ear
Yachats is my favorite little town on the Oregon coast. A good place for existential meditations.
