I tromped across the sea grass.
Foot by foot, squishing indentations
into the wet sea-weeded sand.
My soul is hurting for a kindred spirit,
I am seeking for a shimmer through my heart,
I am seeking an annuity of memories,
I am catching at life with a pole and a lure.
How do I trust these flutter things?
this glimpse without a substance,
these unborn wishes riding in,
pulsing, panting, pulling at the reins.
And there it is! The surf at last, pounding,
pushing into the grass-riddled dunes.
|From the Southern Pump Station Block House, Central Park Reservoir|
MISSION FOR THE DAY:
SEARCH UP AND DOWN FOR AN ICE-FLOW (Iced over puddles count!)
DISCOVER WHETHER OR NOT IT IS SUPPORTING ANY WILDLIFE (flora or fauna)
IF SO, PONDER THE MATTER FOR AWHILE
IF NOT, WELL, ADD SOMETHING! (a leaf, a stem, a pebble, a small pet).
REPORT BACK TO HEADQUARTERS.