In the Fog

                   In the fog. Today. An eagle. Looking doefully down onto a flock of starlings.

                                                  They were tormenting him with their gossipy squawking.

                  In the fog. Quadra Island. Lighthouse obscured.

                "The hours when the mind is absorbed by beauty are the only hours we live. "

                                                      (Richard Jeffferies. 1848-1887)

                       In the fog.Today. No one at the Pier.  No one fishing. No one walking.

                       In the fog. Sun slipping down. Water slapping against the side of the Pier.

                            Not quite in the fog. The marina. Boats all tucked away. Waiting for spring.

                                          Waiting for that moment to slip away into the passage.

                               And the rocky shore  quiet. No tourists. No dog walkers. No one.

                                                                       Just fog. And the foghorn.

                               The boards of the Pier soggy and boggy from  continual damp.

                                                  In the fog. The end of the Pier deserted.

                                Except for the lone eagle. Trying to ignore those noisy starlings.

Trying to be still.                 "To a mind that is still the whole universe surrenders." (Chuang Tzu)

                                                         To fish. To hunt. In the fog.

                               At the farthest end of the Pier. In the fog, a heron took flight.

                                Giving the eagle the idea that it was time to high tail it to quieter places.

         Let the starlings screech and squawk till they could squawk no more.

                                                        He was silent as he drifted away.

                                                  In the fog. Into fast approaching  night.