When the Mist Washes
Over the ocean
Some may call it phantasmagorical.
An apparition too hard to ascribe
It may be very implausible and eccentric.
Or far too phenomenal to describe.
When the mist washes over the ocean
And rises then melts in the sun.
And the red cliffs display their curtains.
When the night times’ over and done.
The sunlight peeps ‘tween native bushes.
And dew glistens on eucalypt leaves.
The Bay sparkles like millions of diamonds.
And the sea slides o’er the shore and the reefs.
Small birds dart in between branches.
The birdsong mingles with waves on the shore.
the magical rhythm and beams from the prism
Bounce and echo and come to the fore.
Far away and beyond the horizon
Nighttime still whispers her lonely song.
not seen by my eyes or heard through the cries
Of the day as it moves swiftly along.
I search in my soul for some sanctity.
a spirit to weather the storm
, a place of refuge to keep out of the cold
Near the hearth to keep my hands warm.
It may be termed a rare phenomenon.
an occurrence marvel or sensation
The sun, the moon, the wind and the rain
Experiences of association.
For me, the phenomena are a different world.
Where nature merges and enters my senses
and after the storm in the quiet of the dawn
I submit and drop all of my defences.
©
David Rudder
2023
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