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.