Thursday, February 17, 2011

Winter Writings: Day 59

Fog hugs the ocean waves
and weaves a gray green tapestry
through the rain forest canopy.
The mist washes away the grime
of the city and cracks open
the hard shell of urban living.
I stand still in the dark salt mists,
close my eyes and feel myself fall through time.
I am entranced by the rhythm of ancient drums
and feel my old bones warm to dance
under the full fish moon
and feel the magic of old, sacred things
fill my soul with longing
for the wild abandon of primitive places
and the heartsong of an ancient sea.

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