He stood on a rocky point, against a background of trees.

His boat quietly reflecting its image on the still water,

gray green in the early evening light.

Mountains rose steeply from the silent shore,

the sea, a thousand feet deep, waited.

He sailed single-handed and loved this place.

Quiet flooded over him, as waves on a beach.

Tomorrow would bring friends, tonight was his.

Peace entered his soul.

 

His illness had hewn deep lines on his face.

Perhaps this was his last cruise.

He would remember each moment with love,

with yearning for all the unspoken longings

that his special spot etched on his memory.

Tears of joy and sadness, moments of kindness

and the constant pull that brought him here,

The Blue Heron sighed by on the wing to settle

In the shallows where the minnows danced.

 

A family of racoons scuttled along the shore

pausing, only, to turn rocks for small crabs.

Otters rolled the water in play, tails flashing.

An Osprey sat motionless on an old snag,

sharp eyes ever watchful; beware you fish!

The moon appeared, as if by magic,

a silver sliver in the deepening dusk.

The Blue Heron waited patiently.

The man, like the heron, silent and still.

 

Next day friends came. They laughed and joked.

Good food was cooked and enjoyed.

Fresh clam chowder and oysters from the rocks.

Walks along the shore, views sprang into eyes.

Talk stopped, breathing slowed, hearts sang

with this bountiful harvest of quiet joy.

Time passed too quickly.

The other world’s siren call insisted.

A rocky point and the bay were deserted.

 

Next year the friends returned, alone.

The man had died; they came,

a pilgrimage for him, to this place he loved so well.

They were sad, no laughter echoed across the bay.

A glass of wine, a quiet tear, poignant memories.

Then a feathery sound filled their ears.

Great wing strokes beat upon the air.

Out of nowhere a Blue Heron settled,

to cling precariously, on the stern rail.

It made no noise but it was not afraid.

It just watched them, stayed in the evening quiet,

then flew silently away, to stand in the water

at the end of the rocky point.

 
 

David Garlick, Sidney, September, 2004