Poem number four of my nature retreat at Marywood. The morning after the storm was beautiful fog. So peaceful. I sat and watched the gulls and eagles as the fog lingered. Some self reflection in the fog. Enjoy the poem.
Gulls Fishing in the Fog
Gulls fishing in the fog
like a merry-go-round
circling and floating up and down
round and round
hoping for a fish to surface in the white.
Claws graze the milky stillness
as if etching frosted glass
but the mirror heals
and the gull misses.
Only one gull remains now
He wings back and forth
in the blur between lake
and what would be horizon.
The liquid body beneath him
moves like jelly
holding spent pine needles
in its perfect tension.
Fog blurs my horizon too
past and present combine
as my spirit moves with the gull.
There is no time in moments
only perfect tension
and the cycle of leaves
showing in the mirror.
