I’ve stood on a shore line not fifteen foot above the water, with cedars one hundred and fifty feet tall behind me and the clouds drifting by below me, around me, above me. It was the sky come to earth. Did I put some in my pocket? I don’t remember. I don’t think so. It is one of those sort of experiences that filters into you. That day, the sky, the little island, and I were just one.
I live in a ski resort. Often the valley will be smothered in clouds yet when riding up on the lift you penetrate the boundary between clouds and blue sky. When you get to the top you look down on what seems like billions and billions of cotton balls. You feel like falling face first into them but you know if you do you will pass right through. They are like philosophical concepts that way. They offer no support yet they are there to consider. After skiing on a day like this I’d often come home with my head filled with ‘cotton’.
What can I say that I haven’t already said to other poems of yours.
There is a primal and sublime beauty to this poem in subject, structure and flow. Already a superb poet, you become a better poet after every post. I see the progress from word to word.
