In the early morning, fingers of mist

crept onto the sundeck to kiss the windows.

At sea, bell buoy sang and fog horn moaned.

All else was silent as stars and

no waves spoke against the rocks.

 

By midday the mist had retreated –

to the islands floating in the bay.

Light made lace of trees playing hide and seek.

Sun beat down on the deck,

steam rose from damp planks.

 

Soon we must leave paradise.

A cargo boat will pull us away.

Our hearts will whisper but our –

eyes will be the early morning mist.

 
 

David Garlick, Ucluelet, BC, August, 2006