The curtains of winter

are closing around us.

The mountains are shrouded,

the sea is slate gray.

Branches are dripping,

the flowers are wilted,

a fog horn is wailing,

waves crash in the bay.

 

Lone Rock is guarding

the beach which is littered

with logs that escaped

from a boom far at sea.

Seagulls are wheeling

their shrill voices crying

leaving this cold place

to the sky and to me.

 

Heron is fishing,

one leg in the water.

Brown kelp is looping,

to pattern the sand.

Flecked spume is flying.

Fine sand grains are drifting.

Waves cleanly wash

foot prints from the strand.

 

The day is declining,

the red sun is setting,

moon palely rising,

to brighten the sky.

Venus is starting

to glitter a greeting

for us who still linger

by the edge of the bay.

David Garlick, Victoria,  1990