Cathy (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} huntersglenn) wrote,@ 2005-03-25 00:27:00 |
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A bit of poetry
Background first -- my parents once owned a trailer on a bit of property adjacent to the Currituck Sound (in North Carolina). During the summer, we'd be there just about every weekend. My father used to say that there was nothing more soothing than falling asleep to the sound of rain falling on the metal roof of the trailer *g*.
One of my most vivid memories from down there was during a storm. From the window in the kitchen/dining area of the trailer, there was a great view of the sound, and on a clear day we could see all the way across the sound to the sand dunes on the other side (separating the sound from the ocean). During this particular storm, my parents and I were playing cards and I happened to have the seat that faced the window. I looked out of the window in time to see two bolts of lightning hit each other right above the water -- it shook the entire trailer and was awesome to witness.
And for a child/young teen confession -- the times when it would start to get cloudy, I'd love to go to this one lot in the trailer park and walk out over the rocks until I reached the end of them, which put me out past the land (probably not as far as my imagination put me *g*), and I'd imagine that I was back in the 1700s or 1800s, waiting for "my man" to come home from the sea. Quite melodramatic and romantic, it was (yes, I read too much *g*). There's no one storm that inspired this poem, but plenty of them helped to create it. It's been sitting on my hard drive for a long time now, and seeing Nolly's pictures of an angry ocean reminded me of it.
Anyway, enough background. Here's the poem:
Currituck Sound
The water sits, a gray slate
unbroken by land or man.
All that disturbs its surface
are white caps served up by the wind.
A shimmer, a change of hue,
see now in the distance the threatening clouds.
No longer do the white dunes give comfort across the way.
Feel the walls shake as
rain and thunder assail us.
The wind, racy and wild now
taps the roof to test my wakefulness.
The sound explodes as
millions of harsh rain drops invade its body.
There is no more gray now,
only white foam, churning in anger, in defeat.
A shimmer, a change of hue.
The clouds depart and the sun returns.
The sound is a mirror of blue.
Boats ease out now, all danger past.
Out of the distant mist, the white dunes
arise once more, a shield against the sea.
Background first -- my parents once owned a trailer on a bit of property adjacent to the Currituck Sound (in North Carolina). During the summer, we'd be there just about every weekend. My father used to say that there was nothing more soothing than falling asleep to the sound of rain falling on the metal roof of the trailer *g*.
One of my most vivid memories from down there was during a storm. From the window in the kitchen/dining area of the trailer, there was a great view of the sound, and on a clear day we could see all the way across the sound to the sand dunes on the other side (separating the sound from the ocean). During this particular storm, my parents and I were playing cards and I happened to have the seat that faced the window. I looked out of the window in time to see two bolts of lightning hit each other right above the water -- it shook the entire trailer and was awesome to witness.
And for a child/young teen confession -- the times when it would start to get cloudy, I'd love to go to this one lot in the trailer park and walk out over the rocks until I reached the end of them, which put me out past the land (probably not as far as my imagination put me *g*), and I'd imagine that I was back in the 1700s or 1800s, waiting for "my man" to come home from the sea. Quite melodramatic and romantic, it was (yes, I read too much *g*). There's no one storm that inspired this poem, but plenty of them helped to create it. It's been sitting on my hard drive for a long time now, and seeing Nolly's pictures of an angry ocean reminded me of it.
Anyway, enough background. Here's the poem:
Currituck Sound
The water sits, a gray slate
unbroken by land or man.
All that disturbs its surface
are white caps served up by the wind.
A shimmer, a change of hue,
see now in the distance the threatening clouds.
No longer do the white dunes give comfort across the way.
Feel the walls shake as
rain and thunder assail us.
The wind, racy and wild now
taps the roof to test my wakefulness.
The sound explodes as
millions of harsh rain drops invade its body.
There is no more gray now,
only white foam, churning in anger, in defeat.
A shimmer, a change of hue.
The clouds depart and the sun returns.
The sound is a mirror of blue.
Boats ease out now, all danger past.
Out of the distant mist, the white dunes
arise once more, a shield against the sea.
