Saturday, August 24, 2024

Lover’s Point, Pacific Grove
















 *At Lovers Point, Pacific Grove*


In the hush before dawn’s first light, we stand  

Where earth meets the endless swell of the sea,  

The fog, like a scholar’s ancient cloak, enfolds  

Each whisper of wind, each breath we release.


Pippin at my side, sentinel of the dawn,  

His soft coat gathers the chill of the mist,  

Yet in his eyes, a warmth that defies  

The cold—steady as the tide’s eternal pull.


Above, the gulls cry, spectral voices  

In the gray, their wings tracing histories  

Of cliffs and coastlines, a cartography  

Of salt and spray, ancient and ever new.


The seals call, distant echoes of life beneath,  

Where kelp forests sway in rhythms only the deep  

Can know. The air is thick with the scent of the brine,  

And something sweeter—yeast and warmth, a promise


Of fresh bread, of coffee brewed in quiet kitchens,  

Where day’s labor awaits, but not yet, not yet.  

Here, we linger, suspended in the sacred  

Embrace of place and moment, the world distilled


To fog, to scent, to sound—an erudite discourse  

Of nature’s own design, a lesson in simplicity  

And splendor, where even the most eloquent  

Words fall silent, humbled by the sea’s soft roar.