Posts Tagged ‘stones’
returning to the shore
Each summer we try to include a visit to the seashore in our vacation plans. This year we explored the coast of Maine and discovered Acadia National Park. Last year, we followed the South Shore of Nova Scotia, stopping at its many public beaches and byways.
The seashore is a magical place. One of the beaches we visited in 2010 was Crescent Beach, near Lunenburg. At the far end of the two kilometre long beach was an outcrop of calcareous rock. This rock had been eroded and pitted by wave action over the millennia. At one spot, the erosion had worn a small hole in the rock, just big enough to put my finger through. For that moment, I was wearing the whole earth as a ring on my finger!!
The other magical aspect of the seashore is its changeability. In 2009, we followed the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia and made our second visit to Tor Bay, near Larry’s River. When you stand on the beach at Tor Bay, the energy of the ocean and the drama of the wave action occupies all of your senses, all of ‘self’. The drama had also changed the beachscape significantly between our two visits, shortening its depth and exposing rocks I had not seen on our first visit.
It was as though we were not in the same place at all, but remembering a fable about a beach we had once known. No matter how hard we tried, we could never return to the same beach we had visited before.
fable
~
1.
~
stone
eroded
~
the fragments
layered by water
forged by fire
thrust and folded
into
stone
~
2.
~
this morning
the moon is real
sculpted in wavefoam
smooth as a pebble
random in the clatter
~
real
not a fable of moon
~
the rocks are folded
half-buried in sand
~
on the shore
an igneous man
in his lap a puddle of water
salt crystals
and stars
~
a quartz river
seams his forehead
~
real
not a fable of river
~
3.
~
I place quartz stones
too heavy for the gulls
to gather
~
these stones will shine
in darkness
a long line leading home
~
4.
~
I choose small stones
with smooth and shine
~
stones like eggshell
or potatoes pushed
into ground
~
pearl buttons
turned by a clumsy hand
rice pelting the window
lanterns shining in the dark
~
5.
~
at midnight
I run to the shore
the white pebbles
gather me to the moonlight
a dotted line
on the asphalt road
~
6.
~
the pebbles do not
wait for me
they fade
and scatter
roll over and over
lost
among so many
common stones
~
the wave edge
unravels behind me
~
7.
~
the path home is a fable
not real
~
in my lap is a pool
salt water
and stars
~
© Jane Tims 1998