Linda Barrett

Shoot down the I-95
escape from muggy, hot Philadelphia
into a small paradise
for a week’s refresher course
In Relaxation 101.
Here is where I want to be:
a haven between land and ocean
my hope soars shining
in silver dewy humidity
rises from the fresh green fields of
beans, corn and wheat
farmhouses greet me as I drive by.
A Totem pole welcomes me:
craggy carved face filled
with somber compassion.
Around Thanksgiving,
before flying south in their winter exodus
the cranes rise up like snow in reverse
after feeding on the marsh crabs
green crops glisten under over head irrigation pipes
cicadas shiver in the long sea plumes
dragonflies hover helicopter fashion
stilt legged blue herons jab
spiked beaks at submerged marshland crabs.
Black faced white sea gulls
scream their greetings
maneuver their sun bleached wings
against the rolling strong ocean air.
I kayak in marinas
with only my languid oars
treading the water.
Everyone must have his/her own
quiet bastion of peace
their lives
This is mine.