Enjoying Alone

The sun is about to set behind the cliff. Due west is to my right, the ocean in front of me, I'm in an odd curve of the bay where the sun doesn't disappear to sleep in the ocean. The sky has turned a gorgeous sky-blue-pink, as my mother used to call it. I still love it here at this location so much.

I don't want to leave, but I am thoroughly chilled now, even with the blanket wrapped around me. It’s odd how I would have been warm enough, comfortable enough, in the same temperature back east (inland Midwest). But, here, on the coast, it seems colder. Perhaps the moisture from the ocean adds to the sense of the coldness. Or maybe it is just because I am by myself, and feeling a little bit lonesome. I gather my belongings and head for the car. Still, there is time on the meter. I want to sit here in my car, warm up and watch people passing by.

Many couples saunter arm in arm. Young and old, fat and thin. Some walk their doggies on leash. A young woman about fifteen comes by with her white Standard Poodle proudly prancing at her side. Such a spirited animal! She plunks down on my previously occupied bench to watch the waves and invites her furry buddy to join her. I am envious as she leans against him to borrow his cuddly warmth. They sit there a while like lovers with their shadowed heads together in the last remnants of twilight.

I've heard that the rhythm of the ocean changes on every seventh wave. They say that every so often there is a wave that seems bigger, more spectacular, than those preceding it. I don't keep count. I am watching too many other things. But it must be Mother Nature’s way of announcing the fabled seventh wave, as the sea grabs my attention enough to draw me away from all the other distractions around me, as though it has said, "Hey! Pay attention here! Yes. Here! You can't miss this one glorious wave. At least, watch this one." And I marvel.

Suddenly many people pass by now obscuring my view. The movies have just let out. I'm cold and go home.

Pacific

Returning from the midwest
flat, lifeless,
humidity stifling,
we craved the sight
of that vast limitless sea.
We wanted to taste
salt water on our lips,
breathe in seaweed enhanced air,
listen to barking seals,
the waves breaking on the shoreline.
We anticipated our bodies tingling
with electrifying exhilaration of the ozone,
bringing life back into our starving lungs.

We had missed it so much
that vast subtle azure
meeting with the gray horizon
kissing the clouds
watching over us.

We could feel a sweetness,
a freshness,
a newness,
as though we had never
been here before.

We stood at the end of the land
on the cliffs
reveling at the rythym
of the tides below,
counting seven waves
hoping it was true
that there is a cycle to the swells.
Yearning...
to walk
on hot glittering sand
in our bare feet,
to squish our toes
into the edge of the foamy brine.
We could hardly wait
for the water to caress our feet,
to roll up our pantlegs
and wade as deep as our knees.
the current pulling at us,
daring the depths to take us away.
We knew we would stay
in the water
until our legs were cold and numb

We climbed down
the precarious zig zag path
where we had been before
so many years ago.
We were like lighthearted children
splashing as we ran
alongside the puddles
and clumps of seaweed,
disturbing the seagulls,
there cries piercing the air.

Slowing down
to pick up seashells
and smoothed pieces of colored glass
green, brown, red
and our favorite...
blue.

We passed around
the corner edge of the cliff
seeking the wall where the mermaid
had been etched by some ambitious artist
How had he done it?
Did he hang off the side
by a rope? stand on a tall ladder?
Certainly, it was magic!
Around the bend
searching the tide pools
seeking the crabs,
we were not aware
of the rising tide,
of the increasing
strength of the wind
in that protected cove.

Was it someone above us
hollering a warning
to return?
A surfer, maybe?
Was it intuition?
We turned and saw
the threatening sea rushing in
as the sun prepared to set.

At sea level
we would be
at the mercy of the rising tide.
Hurrying now,
adrenaline rushing up our spines,
tightening our throats
vibrating through our muscles.
The slippery challenge of the rocks
threatening to toss us off
like pieces of driftwood.

We clung to the edge of the cliff
scraping our hands,
where it cleaved to the shore.
Water weighed us down
as we tried to run,
in heavy slow motion,
being held back
like those in a dream,
the tangled seaweed
hampering our escape
gut wrenching fear driving us on.

At the last moment
in grateful relief,
we safely ascend.

~~~~

Note: Based on a true experience

Tree Hugger

I don't want to look. I know what they are doing out there. It hurts to know.

But, this is the way life goes. Isn't it? There is nothing I can do about it. I've seen it before.

When I was little I felt the same as I do now. But, there was a long period I was immune to feeling anything. I got too busy with life to care at the time.

The noise is deafening. The cats are disturbed. No matter where we hide, we cannot get away.

I suppose I could get in the car and drive somewhere, to the ocean maybe, to the redwood forest and walk among the trees.
But, I would cry. I've had enough of crying. It's a fact of life and I've got to face it... accept it.

I've looked over that fence a thousand times. I've watched that magnificent Magnolia grow, flourish, become the gem of the neighborhood. I don't know why I never took a picture. Mockingbird lives among it's branches. He has annoyed me with his cacophany all night long, many nights over the years.

But I'd trade his racket for the wood chomping monster any time. When he returns this evening, his home will be gone. Where will he go?

Maybe he can hang out in my pine tree out front. I can't believe I'm feeling sorry for a homeless mockingbird! This critter who has celebrated my insomnia numerous times! But, I could sleep better through his night calls if he was out front.

The workers have served the vile machine it's breakfast. It's chewed up Mother Magnolia. Is it going to have the Bottle Brush for snack? I wonder about the others little trees whose names I don't know.

Now, I look out the window across the fence. Barren. Nothing between me and the window across the way. How hot it will be for the neighbors this summer? I wonder if they will miss their privacy when look out the window and they see me looking right back at them! I certainly will be uncomfortable without the bowers between us. I sit on the bed, stunned.

I hear the men out there talking. Why haven't they gone? I'm curious and look out my window. They are cleaning up the remains. The branches and leaves on the ground. They've done there job well. It is what they do, their livelihood.

One of the men  is using a long pole to cut the ends off another big tree. I realize the Magnolia has enticed my eye for so long, I never knew there was another one hidden on the other side of the Magnolia. 

Is that the beginning of good bye for that one, too? I don't know what kind of tree it is.

Bambi nervously sits in the window now, watching, watching, twists her neck, looks back at me, a tiny mew. Does she feel it the way I do? Did she hear the tree screaming as they hacked away its soul? Do the other trees in the neighborhood shudder to think their friend is gone? My peach, apricot, plum trees, will they miss Magnolia? They barely have buds now.

Am I being childish to have this sadness for the sake of tree?

The owner is out there now looking at her nice clean yard. Through my closed window, I hear her sneeze. I'm surprised. This is not only going to be about visual privacy.

I think late tonight I will play angry RAP music!!!

Quietly, of course.  No louder than a sneeze.

After the Storm

From this vantage point atop the cliff overlooking the sea, I feast my eyes after having been incarcerated an eternity behind rain streaked windows.

I drink in the magnificent nurturing beauty before me.

Today the sea is so lovely and sweet and smooth.

No longer thrashing wildly. No longer hurling herself with abandon across the face of the cliff as she has been for... how many days and weeks now?

I can’t keep track.

One stormy moment thundered into the next until  it didn’t seem to matter whether a day, an hour, or moment was counted.

The sea is quiet, lulling me.

Soft waves draw back and forth massaging wet sand. I feel as though I could reach out and touch the edge of the shimmer, pull it across me and let the gentle sheets rest on my shoulders.

I would huddle down beneath her and sleep like a mermaid.