November rains and fallen
leaves bring the end of Summer. Morning fog wraps the docks in moisture.
The duck hunter's boats are back. They return at mid morning with strings
of bounty. The lifeless birds spark a remembrance of free flight and grace.
I remember the December morning when the quacks of hundreds of diving
ducks outside the Jazz Boat door displayed a grand breakfast of fish and
the attempts to steal the fish of the successful divers.
The hunted were the hunters.
The wood fire warms the Jazz Boat. The incense
and candles from the night before leave a sweet fragrance in the room.
I sip a cup of Earl Gray with lemon and sugar. The toast and jam are eaten.
Coltrane's "A Love Supreme" plays throughout the Boat. I am
lost in the divinity of Jazz.
EARLY MORNING MOORAGE
In the early morning light
the moorage rests
In this safe harbor
we listen to the faint voice
of the ordinary river
Sail boats, kayaks and canoes
are icons to the tides
Through the fog
illusion passes
As we know the invisible
the solitude gives us company
Our memories are gifts
from the loved ones left behind