Snow-laden mountains
across the ebbing tide—
a swollen moon floats in the sky.
Soft purple camas wave
and rise through spring grass,
warm sunlight bathes the point.
Faces in the stone shore,
their ancient stories hushed,
cool their feet in the sea.
I set my worn book aside,
feeling a few sprigs of joy
take hold in the soil—
perhaps a flower or two
come summer.
Reading of “Ancient Stories” with music by Paul McCartney