Big Sur

Nik Boyd

The edge of the world is endless water,
risen with clouds hanging from the sky,
floating o'er the edge of the world.

A deep blue rapture suspends the night,
encircling the heavens, brightness shines in the sky,
showering waves of light on the waves of water,
irradiant, sublime, lucid, superfluid light.

Hawks play with the wind,
hovering, swooping, soaring, gliding,
stooping about the trees above the emerald surf.

Beds of kelp sleep in their lazy sway,
rocking with the gentle waves
that lap against the rocky shore.

Stands of fir and oak grapple
and wrestle for the rocky cliffs,
shaking gnarly limbs at each other,
swearing they'll embrace for years to come.

The breeze speaks volumes, sighing on the sand,
blowing kisses against the cliffs,
whispering through the leaves.

Later, a symphony of frogs croak their love songs,
serenading the flying insects they feast upon.

The ground's gravity draws us into its embrace
surrendering stress, lazing the day away,
floating in the well of being, merely, simply being.

Nature's play mezmerizes us with Her motions,
Her energy moves all beings, dancing, dancing,
dancing, entrancing us into peaceful sleep.