Hunting Island

Serenity among the trees, an island.
My small life has no such place so born anew,
Where I walk on a storm washed beach of brown sand
and startle gulls into a sky of blue.
The solitary marred by wandering footprints,
But heard in whispering leaves of palm and pines.

The osprey and the bluejay guard the tall pines;
Soaring, raucous flight above the island,
and shorebirds on the sand leave tiny footprints.
I see the birds in flight anew,
The sky above a blinding bowl of deep blue,
And water flows across the changing sand.

The forest guards the border of the beach sand.
Its high walls are made firm with ancient pines,
Their green appearing bright against the sky's blue,
Disguising the changing border of the island.
The shading forest provides a place to grow anew,
Its gentle floor a cushion for my footprints.

Wind and tide and surf erase the footprints.
Blowing, rising, flowing across the sand
Making restless shapes in sand anew
Beside the drying boles of fallen pines,
And I feel at peace, part of the island,
Underneath a sky, one color blue.

The beach runs down to meet the water's blue.
The water rushes up to fill the footprints,
And footprints leave no mark upon the island.
Once more there are no marks upon the sand;
And back within the forest, the whispering pines
Still sing the same old tune anew.

Is this real peace I've found or peace anew?
A peace because there's no reason for feeling blue?
I wish I could have seen these stately pines
As the first man who might have left his footprints.
what message would I have left upon the sand,
of peace and oneness found upon an island?

The feel of peace anew leaves with my footprints.
I watch the water, green and blue, caressing sand,
As the music of the pines wafts o'er the island.

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