The Creative Works of Andrea Freeman
The Cliffs at Agate Beach
The sediment bottoms of river and sea,
shorn and shaped into rock,
from silty and sandy memory pools
of otters and urchins and heron dances,
and salmon spawning in silver and pink fleshed frenzy,
and rain dropping dreams on slumbering seals,
and worm towers spiring and falling,
and scurrying ants carrying seeds
hither and thither,
flower pollen flung flying and settling,
all coalesced as patchwork coverlets upon each epochs turning,
layer upon layer,
upturned and upheaveled,
by colliding plates, as earth rolls
and wind wails and wave churns
the passing of milennia into stratified rock.
Gull wings glance upon me
sitting here, now,
on this wave-cut bench of shale,
my back leaning against this great seawall,
overlooking the ocean’s glistening water coming and going,
as a shower of rock slivers slide down from the cliff
close enough to touch me,
reminding me that all is still in flux,
and my body will one day be added to the mosaic mix,
so while alive
to add song to the solution,
born of love,
formed and formless.
So, I rise and walk out the reef,
to sing a song of love to the turban snails and anemones,
and the first tidepool sculpin I see.
And they were listening, I could tell,
for you know when you’re being heard.
And they seemed to like it.
A small agate pebble
shone green in the sun
at tidepool’s edge,
tumbled round and smooth by the tide.
I slipped it into my pocket,
like a love note
I’d read with my fingers,
again and again,
until I could recite it by heart.
Later, I tossed it back into the sea,
like a message in a bottle,
for someone else to find,
perhaps, many years from now.
And, when they pick it up,
I trust it will have become a singing stone,
carrying the very love song
they’ve been waiting to hear.
Just as it did for me.
For that’s the way this magic works.
© 2014 Andrea Freeman