Redwood Retreat
Cazadero, September 2014
Precarious dirt road
ploughs uphill to sunset
ridge
past buckeyes and redwoods
overlooking dry river.
Sequoia sentinels
drag feathery limbs
through morning mist
as it hangs above canyon.
Tough skinned survivors
stretch skyward from
mosaic forest mulch,
cloak a fairytale cabin.
Stellar jays screech
insults to common crows,
whet their beaks
upon fallen pine cones.
I sip coffee, wrestle images,
invoke imperfect poetry,
explore every what if
from this tiny oak table.
Still Life
"Not love,
not the wind, not the inside of stone." ~ Mary
Oliver
Sleepy bohemian village is beginning to waken:
tourists at tables, scent of coffee, toasted cinnamon bagels.
Fall garlands, faux goblins and ghosts, mingle with pumpkins.
Witchy Halloween dioramas decorate store fronts.
Curiosity pulls me along haunted streets,
down enchanted trail past rusty leaf drifts,
toward intersection of estuary and ocean.
Spectral light suffuses transient beach strand.
Sunrise sucks ephemeral mist from blanketed bay,
bares lavender fog banks, gilded fairytale headlands,
conjures dour ravens speaking in tongues,
the one-legged sea gull who circles for handouts.
Breach
The sea boils with a
combination
of brown kelp and anchovies.
Terns fling themselves from
gray sky, belly flop
like clowns, disappear under wave
spume.
Lacy umbrellas erupt across
agitated bay.
Breaching whales spout just
off shoreline.
Wherever birds congregate,
misty blow follows.
Behemoth flukes rip apart
silver spindrift.
This is a prehistoric
flashback: raw, watery
planet that teems with
magnificent monsters.
Jennifer Lagier is an unrepentant snake follower.
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