Reflections upon a moment:
the interval at Ocean Springs Harbor
The sky is a silent crystal blue
Hovering over the crafts that sleep.
The masts reach at the sky, and the water
Glitters from the relentless stare of the Sun's eyes
While small fish dart about beneath the piers.
A lone catamaran glides gracefully by-
A soothing wind filling her striped sails.
The rippling wake that she leaves behind
Unfolds like a fan that a countess bears.
The tall pines and cedars are gathered in huddles
Sharing secrets and adventurous tales
While seagulls swoop and dive in mock battle.
The aged docks give access
To the crafts that call their masters.
Shrimpers moan from the rugged week's work,
And power boats are readied for their weekend excursions...
The boats of sail are trimmed,
Awaiting the will of the wind.
The wind strengthens--boats roll at their moorings;
Their rodes restrain them....
Voices call out, they drift like waves
snuggling up to the hulls, or like a path
through a freshly dug garden.
There is a mirror...
It unveils the harbor channel extending southwest,
And a sailboat enters quietly,
the crew lowering the genoa.
An egret watches all from atop a piling near a low marsh
While houses hide among the flowers,
watching the harbor.
Their eyes enthralled by the quiet beauty.
Yet, they see another sailboat seek her berth.
And after her tired sails have rested,
she will venture again
into the mesmerist sea
to become a vision
against the azure sky...
At the helm--my father.