Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Tides




Hunting Island marsh




Three PM and the tide is ebbing,
Her gentle, slow movement unstoppable, back to the sea.
Two snowy egrets move out of the way
as a grey heron glides in
to land in a tree branch.
No one needs to go anywhere.
As the tide goes out,
cushioned by pluff mud,
little currents make tiny whirlpools
fast enough so a blade of grass
makes a wake mid-stream.
The departing sea water and the crabs in the mud
leave little craters everywhere.
An egret preens in the sun, oblivious of me.
A hillock of mud remembers the high water
and yearns for Her return.
'Way beyond, the bright sea caps
proceed in to shore, line by line,
changing everything.
A loud "scree' from on high
and a majestic bald eagle
ascends to her exquisite nest,
fit for a queen, in just the right spot,
overlooking all of this,
all this profound silence.
Pulled by the moon, day in, day out,
She breathes water.

Annelinde Metzner

November 17, 2019
Hunting Island



I had a very interesting stay at St. Helena's Island a week ago. At the beautiful, remote far end of the island, my car had to be towed. No car, no phone, no internet, no camera. Being I still had my brain and a pencil, I wrote a poem while receiving the kindness and hospitality of friends. These photos are from 2 years ago, but thank Goddess, the beauty remains.  Gratitude.
 
 
 
 

















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