Remedy
Silent at the start
of our get-away, I keep
private my low-grade grief,
vague anxiety, and fatigue
from too much work,
activity, and noise,
noise that echoes endlessly.
My imagination turns dark
stained from the lightless news
in the Bremerton Sun:
theft, abuse, and murders.
I hug my grandbabies goodby
regret that I am numb
to their goodness.
“I really need a walk” I say
after some miles traveled.
We consider the omen good
when we find a quiet beach.
At first I walk fast hungry
for the salt air and calm
of the waters of Sequim Bay,
the expanse of lagoon and marsh;
then, I slow beginning to trust my soul.
It knows the remedy - the task,
the prayer, the gratitude, the work,
the moment’s holiest endeavor.
It knows to see and hear
the abundance offered.
We walk and see great blue herons
rise with grace in their effort.
Brandt soothe with throaty calls.
White bellies float beneath black wings
above dark water - a giant flock
of sleek lined hulls bob
as in a parade of elegant ships.
I see them. I hear them. And now
wonder sidles beside my stress
and I sense …I think…
a suggestion of joy.
I tell God and myself I must remember
to look, and listen, and feel
during the hours remaining,
and I do:
a coyote shyly runs across our path,
a hawk reveals the perfection
of her curled wing. Ocean rollers
heave themselves on sands below
a cliff and I hear it suck
the pebbles back sounding like
the gasp for air after a great laugh.
A man and three kids walk by.
The youngest girl wears a cape,
carries a Jedi sword. The boy whacks
at the fence with a beach stick;
his sister jumps. I see his mouth say,
“I’m sorry.” I feel their goodness.
On the misty horizon
I see ships moving slow and small.
I hear the silence expand as if they
carry off my anxiety and noise.
On the way home we travel
in a deep silence. I see how
the crane operator placed
giant boulders on stumps
in the acres of clear cut.
I feel the humor and smile.
I imagine playing
with toy steam shovels
and think of my grandchildren
with joy.
