Summer shines on Vashon
so close to and distant from
Seattle traffic and Microsoft techies

We pick ripe black berries
by the roadside
We dig clams
hidden under seaweed slippery rocks
on Spring beach and ride
a small boat to Olalla
where a black house painter
from Tacoma explains his life
of lost fingers and close calls

We sort through life
listening to the crow
the barking seal and screeching gull
walking on wet rocks at low tide
watching the ferryboat cruise by
then ease into the dock at Tahlequah

We come together
in the ebb and flow
of the tide
in mystic sight
of Mt. Tacoma

Later we dance within
the sacred circle
surrounded
by talking drums
tall fir and cedar

At nightfall
the sacrament of love
inspires goodbyes
at the landing

Foghorns cut the silence
of moonless night
as the ferry
from Vashon
ploughs thick fog
on Puget Sound
the island recedes
in layers of mist

tomas