ValleyDad

Live braced
Against the wave and
Nothing will shake you.
You might be made of
Stone.

Sit without a care
And the waves
One day
Will sweep you full away.

At the beach I warn my children.
“Waves come in sets,” I say.
“Always keep your eye on the sea.”

I point to a family on the far rocks – foolhardy,
Adventuring,
Spattered suddenly with spray.
I’m biblical in my admonition.

At Bean Hollow
Nature offers us her shells, her sediments, her sand,
The many glories of her earth-ages and her relentless energies besides;

Layered conglomerates – twice built into rock –
Deep purple kelp ripped that hour from its mooring,
Young fish and crabs in pools,
Minute jadeite pebbles,
And outcrops of a particular
Grey-brown stone
That wind and salt water, over eons, reduces – here – to
Matrices, to
Hand-scoop coves that terrace the cliffs with
Shelters –
Impossible, organic pods,
Tumbling
In a honey-combed
Fall. 

I wax pedagogic to the children
On themes of time and weathering.
I forget to ask – do you find these beautiful?

I’m ignored, anyway, for a game
Conjured from the air. 

I keep my eye on the sea.

A whale slinks by, heading the wrong way for the time of year.
Pelicans patrol.  A seal spy-hops up a moment
And then moves on. 

I let the children climb,  
Climb with them.  We keep
Our balance,
Just. 

I return to my watch, caught some by the sun.  
Careworn, too.  Glad to be the father.
Happy to pause.  Sad to never be the 
Same age as these play-full children – in love with their mother,
Amazed that they are at all, worried for what they’ll face.

I keep my eye on the sea.
I photograph the interstitial scene.

Ada runs to the time-hollowed rock.  In each small cove she
Places treasure:

A flower,
A shell,
Five perfect stones.