AWAITING A STORM

This Morning…

I must go down to the seas again
To the lonely sea and the sky…
And a grey mist in the sea’s face
And a grey dawn breaking.*

As an atmospheric river sags to the south
The morning broke cold, damp and drizzly.
Me, shivering as I rode my bike
To a lonely beach north of the estuary.

Through empty riverine parks
Past windowless industrial buildings
Through Ventura’s oil fields, littered 
With tanks, pipes and pump jacks, I rode:

Then, ghost trees with whitened trunks
‘Midst flotsam and homeless encampments;
Off-shore wind whipped waves; the lagoon
Festooned with Egrets, Herons and gulls.

This Evening… 

A Wild sky to the West
Hanging over seven misty mountains
As the sun sinks into one dead ocean
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.**

*John Masefield
**Bob Dylan