Flying Soft and Low

Wind, water, fire, stone: their voices
fill the Gorge, length, depth and breadth
except lee shores, sheltered from the noise.
Wind here is muted to a whispered breath
and little wavelets kiss, embrace the pebbles
under the generous shade of spreading yellow
leaves. Fall already marks the maples
but this breathless air is summer's final spell.

Five cormorants, the totems of this shore
fly soft and low across the water. Not for them the soaring
heights of hawk and eagle on violent updrafts.
They ply the river's face with humbler craft,
soft wings and silent voices. Stone and water
speak tiny secrets here. They call me "Daughter."

Plein Air, Pebble Beach, Stevenson

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