driving on highway 26
through forest of the Ents
moss clinging to trunks and limbs
dressing the trees to keep them warm
while standing in fresh snowfall
guarding new generations of Douglas Fir
children of the ancient forest kings

I hear the voices in the wind
announcing the arrival of waves
roaring then calming
surf running silently to the beach
believing the waves are saying my name
calling me back to the beach
different people live in my grandfather’s house
I’ll walk there from town
but I won’t ring the bell or knock
pretending I’m not , I will look at the house
then walk down to the beach
across the short dunes to the hard wet sand
remembering all my summers

I’m ready
to be with familiar things
where the wind and birds
sing lullabys’ and tranquility floats
on the waves