Third March Blog. 9-3-15
You could hardly call it waves. The sea water just rolled ever so gently onto the shore. Soft sand, the whitest there was, rebuffed its attempts to conquer. Sent it back to the depths from whence it came, though it tried, over and over. So slowly it encroached, being forced back each time.
Hours passed, and the ocean made its mark on the coastal line, wetting new patches of dry dusty particles until, at last it reached the base of the closest tree, a palm, that over time, had leant lower and lower until its trunk almost touched the beach. Its roots barely held on to the shifting particles, part earth, part crushed shell, thrown up from the droppings of the Parrot fish. Must be a lot of Parrot fish around!
The ocean, ’tis said, gives up its dead. I wonder why that it said, for many dead things never return from the ocean. They disappear into the deep trenches, never to be heard of again. Some trenches are miles deep, more so than most of us can encompass in our ordinary lives. It is said, and we say, ‘oh, yes’, but it really means little to us.
So we go on, thinking everyday thoughts, not realising just how deep deep is. The Mariana Trench is over 36,000 ft deep. Set Mt. Everest in it and it would be covered by one mile of water. How many of us can encompass Mt. Everest height, with a mile of water over the top of it? Not many, I am thinking! In the majority of cases, the human brain cannot deal with such large dimensions. It prefers to deal with sizes that are more realistic, or most of us might go mad in the trying.
I have deviated slightly. I meant just to describe a far off beach, gently lapping water, sun and sea, but I went off at a tangent, as I am wont to do.
There are other beaches, that we might never see, black from volcanic ash, grainy yellow where crystaline nuggets, much larger than ordinary grains of sand, litter the shore, are painful to walk on barefoot. Silica, plenty of that on all kinds of beaches. But when most of us think of a sunkissed shore, I truly believe that the white soft sand, lapped by sapphire blue seas, surrounded by palm trees high up on the perimeter, is what we see in our minds eye. Not everyone will of course, see this serene picture, will even want it. For some, a street full of buildings, cars and people, is the ideal. This image is not not for them.
I hope that I have sown the seeds of future holidays, current beach life or just wishful thinking.
Be good to each other and be good to any pets you may have. They have a place here on earth also.
A Cold Harsh Wind.
North wind, where do you start your life?
Why are you blowing so chill?
Even as the sun pours life-giving warmth,
Do you blow down to give us a thrill
I feel your heart, those snow-clad mountains,
I sense great ice fields as well.
North Pole, or from the Antarctic,
You came to be with us a spell.
Though fresh, and clean, your beginnings
Start at the top of the world,
Whipping around great ice plateaus,
Where snow columns twist and swirl.
You push the ice storms before you,
A shimnering, majestic whirlwind
That howls with the gales over Norway,
Rushing southwards, so cold and unkind.
Until you reach these few islands,
Where mildness reigns supreme.
Meeting the Atlantic Fair Winds,
You soften, grow warm, as in dreams.
When winds from the western ocean
Fly in and push you away,
We thank you for winter sensations,
But are pleased that you’re not here to stay.
Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. March 2015.
You placidly sit upon the lawn,
Trying to stifle a very huge yawn.
Life is pleasant, life is grand,
From there you spy the lie of the land.
Waiting for the nestling flock
To come within reach or under the Dock.
From your place you can reveal
That speedy chases are very real.
Mice that stray within your grasp,
Thinking you sleep, you make them gasp.
They can run, but you are swifter,
Featherlight on your paws, no puerile drifter.
Stealthily, each step you take
Will get you closer, make no mistake.
One, two, three, and on you go,
Eyes aligned for any foe.
Last minute rush, they will not see,
You become a blur of infinity.
But down a hole they disappear,
You sigh and return to the rear.
That spot is sunny now, it seems,
You want to return to kitty dreams.
First lick your fur, and make it lay,
Mouse will come another day.
Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. March, 2015.
Everyone deserves a good cake,
The best that you or a baker can make.
Covered in icing, all pink or white,
With lots of sugar, it’s such a delight.
It might be a fruit cake, raisins galore,
Or chocolate sponge cake which most will adore.
Or cherry Genoa, or Dundee for all,
Devonshire Honey cake, oh, what a ball.
There’s Lemony Drizzle, one you can’t miss,
Or coconut macaroons, like a sweetheart ‘s kiss.
Pound Cake, Bunt Cake from over the water,
Plie on the weight, but they won’t make you shorter.
Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. March 2015