The Sounds of Home

Wickaninnish in blue

The sounds of home will echo within me
always: rain pelting through the mountain pass,
the swish-swish-swish of the windshield wipers,
the joy of heading home - home!
the very word
a welcoming smile inside.

It's the sound of waves coming in like jet planes
at South Beach in winter storm,
the piercing keen of an eagle's cry,
the bossy caw of the town's crows
begging for scraps outside the CoOp.

It's the scold of a Stellar jay on the deck,
as Mozart wafts through the open window,
the comforting whoosh of the fire
crackling to life in the woodstove,
the putt-putt-putt of boat engines
pulling up to First Street dock.
It's the bell tinkling on the door
of the Common Loaf
as you go in out of the rain,
local faces upturned to greet you,
rain gear sloughed off and steaming.

It's the mooing of the foghorn at Lennard Light,
sounding all night long through the eerie, drifting fog.
And in the morning it's the silence
that lets you know the power is out,
no humming appliances to muffle 
the sound of perfect peace.

Home - the sound of my beloved waves,
forever advancing and retreating
in my heart.

for Mary's prompt at https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/      SOUNDS.

So many wonderful sounds here on the wild West Coast of Canada. I could go on and on.

Bitter-Toss'd

 

She was last seen leaving the beach,
in those long-ago days -

that high-hearted girl, so appealing

with her wispy hair and bizarre costumes,

eyes dark with kohl and goofy with misplaced hope:

sweet as a rose, trembling,
on a dubious journey 

following sparks she dreamed
would turn into love,

but never did.

Where is she now, that tender-hearted girl?

Has she been cured of her longing to be seen,

to be wanted, to be loved?

Did all of that pining turn into a millstone,

hope into responsibility?

Did her fast-talking amour stay just long enough
to leave her

with a string of children
to raise alone?

The evidence is in: her eyes are bare now,

and honest. They invite no one in. 

for Shay's Word List:

https://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2024/05/word-garden-word-list-last-seen-leaving.html

Not sure who this woman is, but I recognize the honest eyes. Most of us older women wear them.

Through a Lens of Beauty

 

source

Poetry taught me to pay attention,

to notice the small beauties: birdsong,

a furry bee asleep inside a blossom, the way

 mist swirls around the shoulders of the island

like a cape worn by a dowager, who has watched

the harbour for a thousand years.

It causes me to notice things: a heron perched

atop a scrag, the scrag itself, bark-worn and

grooved by time, the way my own face

wears lines these days, looking more like

my grandmother than me.

Poetry tenderized me, taking me from euphoric

and optimistic to a deeper place that sees the beauty

through a prism of sorrow, the heartbreak

of human folly turning towns into war zones,
clearcutting forests, driving other beings
to extinction, heating the earth to a boiling point,
blind to our shared peril.
.

Poetry attuned me to the world so deeply

that my eyes leak tears, all the stored tears

of my lifetime, which over-filled my heart,

now released by loss, by love and pain,

by orphaned whale calves and starving children
and times that will never,
can never, come again.

Poetry opened my eyes which can never, now,

be closed. It made me see the whole of life,

but through a lens of beauty: a planet struggling

to survive, a world that strives to live, as tenuously

as a fly caught in a spider web that notices,

as it tries in vain to unstick its legs, how beautiful 

the morning dew is, and tips its head to drink.

There Are Things My Heart Wants to Say

Kʷiisaḥiʔis

There are things my heart wants to say,

but I can't find the words -

or I have already written them

way too many times.

The world has lost its balance and perspective,

if it ever had it. People are setting aside morals

and kindness in favour of hatred and division.

Can someone make the orange man stop talking?

Can someone explain to his cult that they are

woefully mistaken in following and revering him?

Somewhere a small brave orphaned whale calf

is swimming the big sea alone, in search of her pod.

Or, she may no longer be swimming at all,

after so long without family and food.

My heart fastens on this small grief

in order to bear the unembraceable sorrow

that the planet I love is dying.

I want to say have hope but my own hope is fading.

I want to say we can change but the change I see

is so distressing I can't find the words.

My heart rides ocean waves with a small whale

looking for her pod. If she finds it, that will be

miracle enough for me.

In late March, Kʷiisaḥiʔis  (Kwee-sah-hayis), Brave Little Hunter, was orphaned when her mother beached and then drowned when the tides rushed in. For too long, the baby circled the lagoon, calling for her mother. Finally, in late April, First Nations assisted her to exit the narrow passage and she swam free.

Now word has come that her pod is in the area where she was last seen. But she has not been sighted in ten days. I am praying for reunion, but also recognize that she has been far too long without food. It all has taken too long. It breaks my heart.

Whales and Other Wonders

 

Lori Christopher's painting: See Me

When I think about whales,
I think about Tahlequah, mother orca,

who carried her dead calf on her nose

for seventeen days and a thousand miles,

grieving, unable to let her go,

telling us humans: see! See what you have done,

making earth and sea and sky unhealthy

for everyone.

kwiisahi?is, Brave little hunter

My heart swims with Kwee-sa-hayis,
Brave Little Hunter,

who circled the lagoon, week after week,

crying for her mother, who beached

then drowned in the shallows

when the tides rushed in.

After five weeks, she finally swam free,
out into open ocean, alone,
small brave warrior,
looking for her pod.

How will her story end?

How will our story end

if we don't come to understand

whales and other wonders,

and how we are connected

with every living thing

on sea and land?

Spong, who was pregnant, beached,
and died, with her orphaned calf nearby
art work by  Kirsten Buchanan

Update on kwee-sa-hayis April 27 : Oh my goodness. My heart has been aching for this little one, whose calls for her mother have been so heartbreaking. After five weeks trapped in the lagoon where her mother died, First Nations spent an afternòon encouraging her towards the narrow exit by tossing chunks of seal meat. She came close, near the gravel bar where her mother died, but wouldn't go further.

Two observers stayed with her overnight and at two in the morning SHE LEFT THE LAGOON. A true wonderment. They followed, and found her swimming in the moonlight. Guardians say the rest is up to her. We hope she will reunite with her pod, or another family. May they hear her cries across the miles and come for her. Her grandmother is in the pod, and will care for her and teach her to hunt if they reunite. Once she hit open ocean, her instincts seemed to click in, and she began swimming with purpose.

There is concern until she finds her pod, as it is far away, and she is too young to hunt for food.  But it is amazing that she exited on her own, with the loving assistance of First Nations. 

 

Members of the Ehattesaht First Nations Band, who encouraged the brave little one to swim free, say she approached their boat after exiting the lagoon, as if to thank them. These are the wonders of life that warm our hearts, and keep us going when so much else seems difficult.

 Update: In early May, she was reported as approaching boats, indicating she is hungry and needing food. Whereabouts of her pod were then unknown, as it is a travelling pod, that was in her vicinity when she was first orphaned. Her grandmother sat for a time at the entry to the lagoon, as the mother orca died. Sadly Kwee-sah-hayis was so long in the lagoon that her pod moved on. So the question in my poem: how will her story end, still stands. Sigh.

Update May 20: I am holding my breath and willing reunion with my whole being. Brave Little Hunter's pod, including her grandmother, has been spotted in the area where she was last seen. But Kwee-sah-hayis's location is at the moment unknown. She has not been seen for ten days.

I had hoped by the time this posted, she would be reunited with her pod. But the question remains unanswered. I will update you at What's Going On if I hear of any further developments. My heart hurts, thinking of her, just a baby, sailing those big seas alone. I hope she is still alive and that the pod hears her calls. But she has been a long time without food.

For my prompt at  What's Going On   link   ~  Whales and Other Wonders. I had already planned to feature whales in a prompt, when this happened. It could not be more timely.

Sometimes

 

Sometimes,
when people are fractious,

and disgruntled, but thinking I am the problem,

I like to remember the small blessings:

a cup of tea in the morning
in my favourite Dog Lover mug;

the fact that, if I give it time,
my head will eventually recover

from the trauma of awakening, and will
adjust to being upright;

that, after a shower, (a shower! such a blessing,
when so many have no water at all),
there is an hour-long window

when I can either go out
or get something done
before I have to lie down.

These small blessings make
the big blessing possible:

that I am still here, in my sweet cozy rooms,

still alive, in this place that is
so beautiful to me,  so necessary to my soul;
that however slowed down

I am, and silent, and disheartened
with  how the world  is conducting itself,
I am still alive to witness blue skies,

that sky I have loved all my life,
and those endless, eternal waves,
rolling in and out. That, no matter 

how difficult people are being
all over the planet,

in response to the trauma of our times,
there is still goodness, everywhere,
beauty, everywhere.

That there is still a planet we can save,

if we all wake up together and hear

what Mother Earth is telling us

in all her many voices.

Sigh. Sometimes I get disheartened. But I remember that Mother Earth, while desperately distressed, is still trying so hard to live and she needs our help.

Wildfires are burning in Canada. One community of 5000 has been evacuated. It is only May. I don't hear the government talking about lowering emissions, which should be the first priority. The news is distracted by someone south of the border who is totally unfit for office, yet is taking up all the air waves. When will we emerge from this coma and move into doing the work that so urgently needs to be done?

Nature's Child

 

I walk through the doorway of the morning:

grey sky, a cool breeze, a new day

beginning.

I am remembering how hot summer was

when I was young, how, when I hiked in the hills,

the ground was soft with fallen pine needles,

springy under my feet.

The trees smelled almost burnt in the heat.

The scent of sage and ponderosa pine

- the smell of home - was all around,

and I would drink from the long wooden trestles

that carried water downhill to the vineyards below.

I never encountered a rattlesnake,
but a herd of grazing cows 
once followed me, as I walked downhill,
singing.

I was always nature's child.