The ocean is all shook up.
Waves rise, pummel down
one on another as if thrown
by a giant hand.
Thick rolls of khaki foam the shore;
bits split off, spit into the wild wind;
sunlight sneaks among towers
clouding the horizon
and paints the nestled bubbles
in delicate hues of rainbow.
Fifty-eight pelicans fly the fine line
between procession and dance;
a formation of geese bolts north.
Two gulls wade into the shallows
standing side by side, like we my friend,
maybe wondering too
whether frolic or frenzy creates the fray,
but not needing to know, or count,
the spectacle of morning.
Amy Webb, on a walk bringing Mary Oliver present
January 23, 2019