A Poem From My Times on Channel Islands National Park
Crawling along the stegosaur’s back,
With aromatic sage mopping up my jeans,
Boots wet from morning dew.
The lazy sway of tobacco trees,
And the broken rock from under
A fog so thick I’d swim in it.
No boundary from it and the ocean.
A fleeting bird with a rattling cry,
Merely invisible to the naked eye.
The waves,
They call me down to the burning shore,
Beckoning in hope and naked splendor,
While the kelp mats drift within the swell of
Mother Earth’s quiet ferocity.
Welcome to my blog! A mixture of journaling, adventures, notes and poems focused on my experiences with wildlife and nature.
