Marylou Mansfield

Peculiar sense of unnerving angst
rolls in from the bay.
It permeates the clouds,
infusing gray precipitation
into a falling sky.

Tide, in expected recession,
lingers, flicking the shoreline
longer than usual,
not wanting to leave and be late to a party,
imminent on the horizon.

A fierceness begins injecting breezes with
intentional power,
bending treetops,
launching shivering anticipation
in the dunes.

Birds flock inland.
Fish signal chase toward open seas.
Creatures burrow in lairs.
Natural expectancies consume the periphery.

The scene is set for the darkest hours of night
filled with supreme authority given to sea, sky and land.
We, the inhabitants,
must be vigilant in safekeeping
and, yet, thrilled with the glory of it all.