Ripplewood in the Redwoods

Across Highway One
from where I slept, from where a hummingbird swept
into the brush to alert me to another

day, I wait.

Fog never fully rolls back to reveal
those mountaintops but allows the sun to be exposed
and exposing

as hours progress. Seams between
sky, ocean, cliff
recede. I’m not waiting—I’m opening receptacles

to turn-outs and drop-offs and rock-ons.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s