down in that dark dip at year’s end,
while life’s still slumbering.
The beach is a graveyard.
We clamber, beneath ominous skies,
through cathedrals of bones. Beached giants,
prone on the sand, gaunt skeletons, arms uplifted,
feet still reluctant to leave.
In the lifetime of my children,
these dinosaurs, these mighty oaks
have fallen, their forms
sculpted by time and weather,
yet even in death they hold such power.
They lie, steadfast as ever,
awesome, majestic, statuesque,
garlanded with gifts from the river:
soft green fronds, little crabs, bladder wrack
decorating their fingers.
For centuries they stood strong,
hearing the river’s song:
ebb, flow, winter, spring,
tide and moon rising, falling,
curlew calling, calling.
We will walk the shorelines
at that bright time of new beginnings,
now we are awakening.
Jan Armstrong
Photo by Daniel Lincoln via Unsplash