I sit upon a bleached log, my companion a seal pup; its mother feeding deep in the ribbon kelp.
Mornings are best. I wrap myself in sunrise and birdsong. I gather sea glass pick up a tiny starfish.
I watch the ferries, squat in murky water, whacking across the wake of tankers all day into night.
I yearn to see an orca. A rainbow arches over the white lighthouse. A seaplane, a white blip, traces the shore.
Dunes nurture sea grasses, sparrows, wildflowers I cant name. Blackberry bramble define my path. I pick up a shell,
think of souvenirs, of a desire to hold on. The starfish moves one tiny arm. I toss it back into the Sound.
Sandra Babka Bellingham