The Sun and the Moon and the Sea

There are days that stretch far beyond the limits of time.  

Clouds race endlessly across the blue, tides rise and fall,

and still the day continues, each moment of it holding fast to the part of one's mind where what matters most finds a home.

We share a day like this, my love and I.  The sun sets, the moon rises, and still we carry on. 

And what wonders we see.  Mythical birds one last night

before they leave their summer home

to fly back to the sea, where they have always flown.

Nothing about the day fades.  Each moment stays.

The sun has set again and again since then,

and yet this one persists.

We are rich with it.

Swept into silence by the wind, we watch the powder-white disc of the moon curve over the trees.

We could be infants or creatures from another world, how new this all suddenly seems,

and yet as ancient as the cry of a herring gull, the path of a snail through sodden sand.

And we wake early to find the sun again, impatient for the light,

even as the day before etches itself into our minds

lasting as long as we need it,

as long as we seek it,

as long as forever turns out to be.

Happy 20 years, Mr. Magpie.  

Note to you, my friends: I shot all of these photos over the weekend of the Super Moon this month.  The first ones are up off St. George Peninsula at Eastern Egg Rock, where Project Puffin has worked arduously for 40 years to restore the puffin population of coastal Maine.  If you ever have the chance to take a boat tour out to see the puffins, grab it!  They truly are wondrous little birds.  The sunrise pictures are on St. George Peninsula at Tenants Harbor.  The last couple of moonrise shots I took at the public landing in Falmouth Foreside.  

I am grateful every day that I live in such a beautiful part of the world.  

P.S. The other birds in the photos are an osprey, gulls (and other sea birds) flying over Eastern Egg Rock, and a great blue heron out fishing for his early morning breakfast.