I used to think I would always want some property by the ocean as I loved the smell of the salt air, the expanse of water in front of me , but I mostly loved the sounds of the surf. Especially at night as I sat up late at a friends cabin, windows open, a nightcap in hand and a good book to read. It was very soothing.
As a prairie boy who grew up in the mountains, the one mountain sound I fell in love with was the distant sound of a train rolling through the valley and blowing it’s horn. Strangely haunting.
Since I’ve moved back from my stint on the coast, I have missed the sound of the ocean. But as I discovered awhile ago, I can hear it almost whenever I want to. I just have to stand in a grove of Aspens and, when a breeze blows gently through, I close my eyes, and I can hear in the canopy above, the memories of sitting on the beach in the cool evening air.
So, while laying in the hammock last weekend, and taking in the smells and sights and sounds, another wonderful thought came to me which inspired this small bit of writing…
These little hands held silent in nights touch
Understand and wait for the whisper of dawn
and as the warm light crests,
mornings breath fills them with glee, setting them to tremble.
with arms outstretched these little hands begin clapping
and their sounds of joyous applause can be heard throughout the glen.