Like the crone observing new life from her crooked-neck perch
bones and sinews exposed as winter’s denuded branches
time relaxed immeasurable and infinite
the blue heron rests on the leafless limb
its s-curved neck raising and turning languidly.
From here it sees in all directions
the improbable collage:
Alaskan factory ships, purse seiners, trawlers
gulls soaring and diving
starlings murmurating, suddenly reversing direction
duck pairs gliding and bobbing
Puget Sound waves slapping the black rock wall
half-mile long piers hosting local joggers
ambling tourists and the just-returned traveler
city skyline lit by soft gray daylight
brown dogs racing across manicured green
Mt Rainier’s glacial snow shimmering
the Artist’s backdrop for the still life assemblage.
The heron, the crone, gaze to take it all in
they see everything, so it seems,
except that which is directly beneath
the root system loosening its grip
the soil slipping through withering membranes
the way this magnificent Maple will be ripped from the earth in the windstorm
cracking and crashing to the ground
its wizened body forever at rest
the teeming life it nourished shocked and scampering
to crawl or slither, burrow or dig,
carry on
the new vista broken open less one Bigleaf Maple
one blue heron, one old woman.
Welcome home. Love the picture postcard from your wanderings. I can smell the sea!
Thank you!!
The PNW sights and sounds are so unique…
What a poignamt reflection on lufe and death, the passing of time…