March-morning sitting,
Aging man deliberates –
Do-less state of mind
dawn
Seduction, January 21, 2016, 7:00 a.m.
On at least one star-filled morning each month, I can be found elbow-supported, wooden-railing leaning at the end of the Lighthouse Pier where I gaze toward the sand-duned line along the southernmost end of Salt Run. There, by the light of a sun that has yet to crest those sandy ridges, night’s quiet transformation into day occurs so swiftly that my brain can but register its changes as stop motion animation: changes in the sky where yellow intrudes upon dark charcoals, diluting them into steely blues; changes that brighten and polish smooth patches of water so that channel markers and mooring floats might reflect upon their states; and changes that shear night’s veil guarding a secured ketch till the boat’s emerging beauty seduces me once again.
בְּרִיאָה *
Topping the protective dune, we froze, speechless in wonder to see the birth of the day laid out before us.
*Creation
Going Home
Sunrise stroll ending
Fresh brewed coffee waiting –
Good-morning being
Manifestus
I will never know the breadth of God,
Nor the height, nor the depth.
Yet, I pause in awe of dawn’s majesty
Some early morning walks by the sea.
Salt Run Adventure Dreaming
On the first star-filled morning of each second month, I hasten to the Lighthouse Pier where I take photos in the rosy-dawn light of sailboats at anchor on Salt Run. There, at each click of my camera’s shutter, I find myself inserted into misty images of daring voyages to distant and mystical lands.
Salt Run Sailboats at Dawn
Securely moored in an outgoing tide
Toward the southern end of Salt Run,
Sailboats dream of foreign adventure
Till night’s mist fades with morning’s sun.
Psalm
Gently comes my God some days
Gently wakens me
Gentle breath upon my soul
Instills divine serenity
Predawn at the Bridge of Lions
Waiting for first light,
The captain dozes below –
Lighted-bridge stillness
Note from the St. Augustine Waterfront
Since moving to this town by the sea, I have become attracted to sights of sailboats moored in calm harbor waters during the minute or two before night disappears into the advancing day. At those times, I am filled with a quiet certainty that passing fancies of mine involving some derring-do are both possible and advisable. For good or bad, such notions invariably fade as the light strengthens.
Vilano Images 