Autumn on the coast...

Autumn has arrived on the Pacific coast with a flourish of blustery storms and downpours.

I am making a valiant effort to experience the beauty of the season in brightly colored trees and fallen leaves. Yet steel gray skies and rain intrude on my psyche. I yearn to write of endings instead of cheerful copper creations peeking out among the hemlock.

I sense myself turning into a hermit. I seldom leave my six mile long by two mile wide sand spit out on the coast ... Autumn draws me inward.

Before I go down the rabbit hole entirely, I offer readers a brief respite:

Pantomime

She’s changing clothes, shifting wilted camisoles
thrown off exposing youthful skin and bone.
Her fashion once concealed bare naked innocence
revealed among her neighbors stately forms.

She’s blushed and flushed though still she stands
desire to fade and hide rooted to the ground.
Her laundry list is deep discarded at her chilly feet
showers wet her crown, shivering she frowns.

She’s safely kept her shapely place amid the rest
never spread nor shed a seedling underneath.
Her pose is spare though purposeful in due respect
can’t a limb react to shield her from neglect?

She’s numb with frost, turned to inward thoughts
of careless growth in showy summer frocks.
Her brittle frozen skin begins to sense a tiny brush
of clever sister cedar’s gentle warming touch.

I offer you one more quick glimpse of the beauty of south-central Washington from my rainy rearview mirror:

Oh, Take My Picture Please

Dreamland settles in around the bend,
I pass through upland hills as fall expands
among a wonderland of gleaming gems.
Skipping beats, my eager heart stands still;
indeed my eyes deny the glimpse I see
of autumn clothed in gold amid the green.

A treasure trove of shiny copper coin,
alight in graduated beams of warming sun
on glowing statues cast in gilded bronze.
Fairies in our midst; my imagination twists
and turns in swirls to revel in them all.
Bright red maples blaze beside a waterfall.

A drive in dreams I want to never end.
I slow as passing strangers leave the scene
they may have never even known before.
Along my way a mix of yellow hued arrays
of wily willows caught in passion plays
escape cascades of blushing poplar leaves.

Visions fade away as rural roads divide
to shoo us through with scalding overdrive.
One parting burst survives; cherry limbs
wave gaily in a crèche of concrete medians
sweet sugar kisses dancing on a breeze
flying after me. Oh, take my picture please.


Ok - Readers cannot say they haven't been warned. My next post may arrive from among slimy rocks and roots shivering below ground. Perhaps we should migrate, strive to follow the sun to the southern hemisphere.

For those who share my malady, stay strong! Don't let "Seattle gray" get you down.

So I've decided to start my own blog......

Here I am starting my own blog even though I know full well I have very little to say that is original. There are so many truly amazing bloggers and websites I enjoy..... but every once in awhile I want to see my own work in print, or maybe I need to vent or rant a bit. What ever did we amateur journalists do before the Internet? So I think to start this off right I will post a poem I wrote back in June, that fits right in with life at the beach on the central coast of Washington State.

Little Sand Castles

Summer weekends at the beach
Children play along the strand
Safe and loved and full of life
They build castles in the sand

One small child begins to play
Contented there but all alone
Another joins with cries of joy
And on it goes as castles form

Moats and walls of every size
Towers soar to their design
Something magic happens here
Special castles from their mind

Children’s castles dot the shore
Each unique in their own way
Made with pleasure in the sand
Meant to linger here and stay

Parents call the children in
Abandoned castles left alone
To sink and fall within the tide
Rolling in to claim its home

Summer shores are quiet now
Castles there were never safe
Like treasure lost into the sand
Memories now beneath the waves.

Oh, and just in case anyone got the wrong impression, I am not all sweetness and light and poetry and such. On Mondays and Fridays I can be found standing with my "Fund the Wounded, Not the War" sign at a couple of well traveled locations, along with my wonderful like-minded friends and fellow activists. Hey there America, let's all pitch in to help stop the Iraq war and occupation NOW!