bridge to heaven,
apex of the earth and sky;
west by north, corner of a nation.
where the ocean deep and blue,
rises from its depths
to join the hands of sea blown grass,
together reach for cotton wisps,
the cirrus clouds aloft to clasp,
teasing curling locks of hair
in a brilliant sapphire sky.
garden where the angels visit,
stoop to touch the darkened sod;
swoop to give a breezy nod,
a soft salvé from above;
joining sailing boats
with colors flying,
their wings of sheets
catch winds offshore;
waves collide in dance,
splash at bow en-trance,
curtsying like a curtain call,
here at play they soothe, enthrall;
transporting, lifting, cavorting, gifting,
on breezes light with gentle lofting,
Zephyrus sends them over yonder,
ever distant, ever stronger,
’cross the strait to reach her border.
port of angels, home to men,
bridge to offer sweet descent...
this, the end of jacob’s ladder,
dream of angel’s softened laughter,
listen close you’ll hear their whispers,
words of grace in flowing vespers
blowing down from snow-capped ridge
gently ’cross the angel’s bridge.
post script.
another of our favorite Northwest places, Port Angeles lies close to our nation’s most northwesterly corner. at the foot of the rugged, snow-capped, Olympic Mountain range, she enjoys respite from it’s rain-forest moisture in an odd rain shadow that forms across the northern edge of the Olympic Peninsula and reaches eastward across the Puget Sound to Whidbey and Camano Islands. just 15 miles across the strait to her north lies Victoria, the jewel of British Columbia, home to Bouchard Gardens on the southern shores of Vancouver Island. Port Angeles, she is rich in native heritage, full of natural bounty from sea and soil, and sunsets here are always beautiful. we time our annual pilgrimage here in early July, for her colorful and fragrant lavender harvest and accompanying festival. “port of angels”... a rather fitting name for such a heavenly place.
