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Odin odin@aflx.com, click here
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Having heard it expressed that giving birth is like a mountain erupting, perhaps some posetry flash fiction will give Nature acknowledgment of knowing other such births and travels in life.
Orphaned Pebbles
Atop so many ebbs and tides
Have I ridden
Beneath the roil and tumble
Have I survived
Now at last
A fling of wave and wind
Rests me among found safety
A pebble blanket
High upon the shores
At the foot of your magnificence
How very long ago it seems
Your mountain spire
A shudder
A quaking shift
My security split open
The severed shards
The razor chips
Cascading into the sea
We were all lost
Flung from your fortressed castle
Destined to drift
And tumble
In watered darkness
But you…
After your fathoms-deep eruption
Did heal
Ocean did soothe
Sunlight did transform
Devastation into vegetation
Your island survived
Your knife-edged spirit
In spite of severed shoulders and face
Became a frozen echo of resilience
Your ancient imagination made beautiful its scarring
Its many cave-like eyes held firm the watch
Your beard of tangled vines continued its reach far below
Across a rotund belly of scree and sand
How peaceful this inlet shore
Where briny caresses have protected
And made available your pebbled orphans
Who returned
So…
Here we are
Waiting patiently the next adventurous child
Looking to select
Gather
Sort
And cherish one of your surviving kin
As the sun dries my polished continuance
I wonder if the journey will find new transport
To window pane
Cigar box
Perhaps an aquarium
Placed among other friends of the deep
Though…
I’m hoping to become
A pocket buddy
That’s the best
Don’t you think?
To be a warm companion
To a boy like the one hovering over me now
He’s leaning down
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And the question I always had by the river or lake side in Wisconsin where the glaciers polished the stones to wonderful rounded shapes with hardly any sharpness. My quest was for skipping stones that were around and flat about the size of a silver dollar. Sometimes, my twin brother and I would find a treasure trove of them and skip stones to see how many skips we could count before they sunk into the water again. Sometimes, skipping 30 or more times on ideal flat placid water of a windless day. What fun to compete like this. Returning the pebble to where it came from. Only to know that it would be back on the shore again sometime soon like a thousand years or after the
next flood.
Ron