The cold, salt north atlantic air dances in my nose.
The playful waves tumble and crash in my ears.
The rocky coastline overwhelms my eyes as I try to take in it sprawling majesty in the glinting sun.
The invisible wind touched my bare skin, sometimes like an angry lover doling out her scorn, sometimes like a gentle mother lovingly caressing her child’s cheek.
The lifting fog and the salt breeze
mingle on in a cocktail on my palate,
sending a heady buzz into my
old factory senses.
I nestle in a grassy rock crevice,
soaking up the sun as it soaks me up.
The rocky mass beneath me
becomes my chair, my bed.
I lay enveloped
and become rock, sea and wind
the calling gull
crawling ant
and the still grass.


Reposted with permission from neo(un)orthodoxy.

Rev. Robert Cooke is the priest-in-charge of St. Mark's Anglican Church in St. John's, Newfoundland.

  • Peter Bisson
    Posted at 09:33h, 05 August Reply

    Evocative and beautiful. Thank you!

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