Softly
Water teases
the shore.
Midnight embraced.
The fawn’s gentle passage
Across the divide between
Sea and space.
Gently it massages
The overwrought mind.
It plays with fancy
And caresses the
Worry from out of the day.
It can rise, water that
splits the rock.
On wild, stormy days,
Untamed it crashes
And builds for yet
Another assault.
Power, magnitude,
Roiling, unbridled,
Its music is loud
And pitched.
Wave upon wave,
Unapologetic,
Insistent,
Grand.
Majesty tethered
To the foam.
Waves capture the sky.
The iridescent blue of a summer’s day,
The sprightly appeal of windswept water.
The unassuming, rare incidence
Of water at rest, shimmering there
In the sun.
Oh, its many variations.
Its fluid grace to go from
One thing to another.
How adaptable it is.
How beautiful in its many moods.
How perfect its conformity to the
Winds and weather
That brush its tide.
Yet, still,
to the deeps
Quiet resides.
So much rousing,
So little calm,
So much
restless wandering,
Yet, playful disregard
While waters surge
Overhead
And lift up the dawn.
John A. Bragstad is the author of two books: Compass Season and Nature's Poetry of Life / both available at Amazon or in local Grand Marais bookstores.
"Waters at Play" is taken from an upcoming work still in progress: Sojourner of the Spirit.
Special thanks to Pixabay for the title image.