Wind driven,
waves rush in beneath an eagle’s wings
and raucous cries of circling gulls,
hunters all; sharp eyes search
the restless surface for a meal.
Below, spreading ghostlike,
the spill of winter’s air
opens like Gitano’s fans.

Receding tide
uncovers familiar feeding grounds
as great blue herons stalk their prey,
and ducks dive, and cork-like,
resurface moments later
to dive again. Wave tops break.
White foam flies.
Above, the eagle cries.

Gray, this bay,
the preceding day’s smooth surface,
now storm wrinkled, breaks on shore
where giant kelp lies tangled
among scattered stones
and broken crab shells being
plundered by a raven, black
wrapped in sheets of rain.

Thick moss,
its tenacious coat of emerald fur
clings in clumps to weathered
cedar stumps and naked branches,
all awaiting the first whisper
of long remembered spring.
Nature, its scales weigh
what each day brings.

A knife of light,
sunshine rips a hole in racing clouds.
A million silver plates go dancing on the sea
and countless birds take flight.
Distant snow-caped peaks appear
as pale gray fog comes blowing
down the strait, and on the shore,
appears a single deer.