I Can Hear the Sound of Surf
Although the sea is far away
I can hear the sound of surf, although the sea is far away.
The night wind high in the trees is a talented mimic, strumming the autumn leaves like a harpist composing a mournful tune.
A surging wave pounds the shore.
Sibilant lace laps the sand.
No longer do I merely listen. I am transported.
To a beach. To a night.
To the steel-cut stars and the quavering path of moonlight on the water.
Imagining the blackest depths beneath the churning waves.
Life at once alien yet somehow familiar, respected and feared.
I have never liked to step in dark water. No matter how bright
the moon, nor what luminescence spangles the waves.
Darkness may conceal danger.
I am curious but not courageous. A distinct setback to exploration.
But not to imagination.
Allowing me to hear the sound of surf, although the sea is far away.
And to indulge in the moments just before sleep in a sweetly-tuned memory of love and revelation .
