“Even the upper end of the river
believes in the ocean.”
It's peaceful on this rock—
a place to scan the throbbing ocean.
high above barnacle clad mermaids.
My father once checked under my bed
for the The Feathered Ogre
—let loose from a color print.
Look at the agility of the young,
careless, leaping, unaware
of rock gaps, of cliff heights.
Today a breeze limits the hot sun.
I once hiked beneath a torrid sun—
our thermometer reached 110 degrees
One summer I stood where Georgia O'Keefe stood
and looked at her colors
draped on a blue backdrop.
I, too, love that fiery landscape and bone-dry desert.
I quit hiking before reaching Delicate Arch.
Seated on this rock, the horizon line blurs—
yet still only a hand's distance away.
I dream of sailing on that edge.
I am replenished.
Linda Watskin ©2010