(Two old fishermen sitting behind office @ Johnny's Marina 1969)
I have sat as a seagull upon the dock
listening to the captains on their laureled ships talk.
They voyage on seas to lands not near
They sail on ships still tied to the pier.
Majestic monuments of ancient peaks
Born of fury and hidden torment
Inspired carvings by the breath of time
Fall as sand before the mercy of the deep
and the passions of the brine.
(A Stormy Day at Gills by the Bay 2021)
The seashore feels the season's change with grasping and clawing as one holds fast, the other pulls and tears evidenced by the winds and churning seas. Waves torturing the waters and violently assaulting sea shore dwellings. Structures caught amid this epic battle of millennia strain and groan in their defense.
The battle of the season's change has begun.
The wind is the evidence of the struggle to find balance in a topsy-turvy world. Clouds tossed like vapors in surging wisps, turning and twisting into fomenting billows scattered across the sky, streaking to an amorphous end. Birds press against the fierce headwinds. Beaten by the gusts retreating, then trying over and over again.
Regardless of the fury and strength of the struggle, the result is always the same. Seasons come, and seasons go.
Though it may seem pointless, in the season's struggle is found the strength to persevere and bring its essential purpose until it is time for the next battle season.