Silence, except for the insistence of ocean.
Backdrop for seabirds, arguing in a grumpy rain.
I let contemplation keep company with
a stubborn fire warming wet wood,
hungry for more than it is willing to give.
Morning.
These mangy hills, full-cliffed, sprung from
the deep places of the earth,
thrust their faces out to greet
a colorless sky, too dark to laugh,
too green to die, but not too proud to cry.
Spring.
There is a stooped and bent feeling,
cast abroad in the air, breathing heavily.
A tangled scene, untimely brought,
coils itself, unprotected against the beauty of
a moist, unsatisfied wind.
Oregon.
Rob's Lit-Bits 