Simply Heather

Looking through the heather, 

the heart of the mountain 

turns to azure cool depths.

Climbing stone on stone, 

moss wraps its limbs 

around moist hardness.

A wind sails over the whiskers 

of a seal sleeping on a pile 

of seaweed. Why are we so 

determined to remove ourselves 

from this feeling of awe that 

surrounds us in the wilds. I could 

write these lines again and again.

The ocean comes in to lick the 

shore, and we are embarrassed.

The sun screams out beauty in 

its descending pinks and oranges, 

and we cover our ears. Why do we 

complicate the beautiful array of 

mismatched and untied strings 

by tying odd ends together.

13 September 1995