The cool, moist airflow off the ocean this July is bringing the seagulls inland. With such a fine current at their disposal, I imagine the sixty-mile journey here is but a two- or three-hour ride. It’s good to hear their cries. And their arrival makes me wonder about the summer ahead. Will it be milder than the past several, which have been marked by excessive heat and numerous forest fires? I know this: it will take some powerful winds out of the northeast to carry the seagulls back again. And if they go, the old straw hat will be in daily use once again.
July 18, 2019
Cape Perpetua
Looking down on birds with outstretched wings,
I realize
some
things
can
only be
understood
in flight.
Visiting the Ancient Spruce
Yes, my friend. I understand.
We can talk some other time.
Whale Bone
Whale bone
is not what you
think it is.
It’s what you
remember later,
at the ocean’s
edge.
Songs and Letters, August 7, 2007
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces, Songs and Letters
Tags: Cape Perpetua, Diaries, Journals, Poems, Poetry, Seagulls, Short Poems, Silence, Whale Bone
William Michaelian 