.RetreatThe little lane that winds between the evergreens—where few will venture from the busy road to town,where wildflowers spring along the grassy track—beckons me to follow, to leave so much behind,to seek new weal in ocean air and solitude.For years without number, for ancient aeons past,this stony shore has curved around the wooded hill,stretched its spruce-spiked points to touch the open sea,embraced the wales of waves that roll in from the bay,and measured tides that rise and wane upon its reach.Beyond the wave-washed cobble, wild beach-rose blooms,and beach-pea twines in green and lilac ecstasyaround and over ancient bones of storm-wrecked ships.And then there is a bit of marsh, where dried reed-canes,massed like slender lances, conceal the nests of birds.An unexpected ocean of lupine gives way to ferns,and past the ferns, the rising headland greets the sea,crowned with towering cone-dense spruce and fragrant fir,old branches twined like lace against the wind-swept sky.Here, lone eagles watch the sea with distant eyes.Alone, I also watch the sea, breathe in salt air,the well of life from which I never will be weaned.The ocean cleanses me, in part, of long-held griefs,now annealed, that once were tender new-pierced wounds.This stark and stony shore is home, and life, to me.Bee words used from 1/01: aeon alone anneal cane clean conceal cone lace lance lane lone ocean once wale wane weal wean well

.RetreatThe little lane that winds between the evergreens—where few will venture from the busy road to town,where wildflowers spring along the grassy track—beckons me to follow, to leave so much behind,to seek new weal in ocean air and solitude.For years without number, for ancient aeons past,this stony shore has curved around the wooded hill,stretched its spruce-spiked points to touch the open sea,embraced the wales of waves that roll in from the bay,and measured tides that rise and wane upon its reach.Beyond the wave-washed cobble, wild beach-rose blooms,and beach-pea twines in green and lilac ecstasyaround and over ancient bones of storm-wrecked ships.And then there is a bit of marsh, where dried reed-canes,massed like slender lances, conceal the nests of birds.An unexpected ocean of lupine gives way to ferns,and past the ferns, the rising headland greets the sea,crowned with towering cone-dense spruce and fragrant fir,old branches twined like lace against the wind-swept sky.Here, lone eagles watch the sea with distant eyes.Alone, I also watch the sea, breathe in salt air,the well of life from which I never will be weaned.The ocean cleanses me, in part, of long-held griefs,now annealed, that once were tender new-pierced wounds.This stark and stony shore is home, and life, to me.Bee words used from 1/01: aeon alone anneal cane clean conceal cone lace lance lane lone ocean once wale wane weal wean well

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