oceans immeasurable

There's a silky mist settling on walkways and roads, and I take this treacherous weather to mean rest. A spruce tree across from our window is crowned with last years' pinecones, waiting for this years' pollination... but instead of thinking summer I am thinking of a choppy winter ocean.

A poem helps --

"H.D." 1886 -

111. Oread

Whirl up, sea --
Whirl your pointed pines.
Splash your great pines
On our rocks.
Hurl your green over us --
Cover us with your pools of fir.

A short while ago, I sat in the same medleyed-orange chair, with the same spruce-view, and spoke of oceans with a school friend. We are washed with such an ebb and flow of books, profs, practicum; people, people, people with needs, needs, needs... I said, ah let it be, what we speak is just a brief boat on a big ocean. We brave the waves but we are small. Plenty of salt-water below us. Tears, if you like.

There are funny things in the ocean, too. Creatures with huge bulbous eyes, and creatures with no eyes at all. Beautiful hues and grotesque teeth. Sometimes humour and danger at the same time, like a puffer fish.

My fiance's mom fished up hilarious things before she passed away, and scary things. Her mind struggled to keep up with her body and spirit in saying good-bye, and what she dredged from her own life's oceans were jokes and sharp emotions. Bright starfish and stinging urchins.

I think we're all oceans immeasurable. Treasure (and terror) untold. A little skiff to skim the top.

Deep calls to deep...
All your waves and breakers
have swept over me.

(Psalm 42)