Thursday, February 2, 2012

Poem: Oats Peak Trail

Oats Peak Trail 

Fog, like a wall of soft gray cotton,
hangs just off the coast.  Wind torn scraps
vanish as they drift toward the inland heat. 

Climbing Oats Peak trail
I slowly rise above the fog, coast, ocean,
switchback through sage and scrub oak, 

coyote scat and shale beneath my hot feet.
Lizards skitter into the brush,
red tails glide and hover on the thermals. 

Alone on the trail, in one hour
I reach the thirteen-hundred foot peak
just as another lone pilgrim appears 

from his Coon Creek approach.
He’s gone now and I sit
on a weathered bench, 

only my thoughts, pen and notebook
to keep me company, blue sky,
wild nature, the distant ocean’s quiet roar.

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