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Ocean Air And Freedom

On the water I am awash in ocean air and freedom.
My world has expanded to the breadth of the Pacific,
Yet my sphere has shrunk to my four skiffmates and our neighbor setnetters.
It is a good thing to disengage occasionally.
Let the world spin without us for a time.
I’ve fished every season since I could walk.
This, above all, may be the thing that beckons me back to Cook Inlet’s shores each summer.
We could all benefit from forgetting the world, for a while.
Remembering us, for a while.
Immersed in ocean air.
And freedom. 

 

[Inspired by a friend’s wise words telling me to enjoy the ocean air and freedom.]

Watershed Moment

Look. Scan the list of dead rivers and streams across the Pacific Northwest. It’s not a single page, it’s a long scroll. The salmon are gone, not because people wished for their demise, but because they were not protected. The salmon are gone because one resource was traded for another. Repeatedly. Will we learn from these mistakes? Will we add to the scroll? This is a watershed moment.

From the inland ridges tributaries flow
To rivers and ocean waiting down below
Swollen with promise, the lifeblood of the Earth
There are no dollar signs denoting their worth

This is a watershed moment, hear the planet’s call
There is no atonement if we let it fall
Filthy water cannot cleanse
We reap what we sow my friends
This is a watershed moment
This is our watershed moment

Inkwell

I found a bottle on the ocean, I thought it held a note
But the bottle held the ocean and the ocean, it spoke
It said: You come to me for answers, they are hidden in your heart
I’m just an emerald mirror with no wisdom to impart
You stroll my many beaches seeking peace along my shore
Let my hush enfold you and still that inner roar
Hear the rhythm of my waves and the cadence of my tides
In Nature’s rippling pulse a salty symphony resides
Tho this bottle held no human note on its buoyant ride
It was the inkwell of the ocean with a sea of words inside

The Promise Of Spring

It is a sunny morning, this final day of March.

The air is full.

A tumult of chirps and whistles and individual melodies form a concerto.

Birds are celebrating the receding of snow.

The return of the sun.

The reawakening of their beloved woods.

Nature did not renege on her perpetual promise of spring.