Wild Cape Photography
Atop the cliff he stands,
Sharp eyes piercing the waves,
Like a spark, he takes to the sky.
Plummeting toward the sea graceful and precise,
He plunges in talons first,
Grasping the helpless fluke in his icy clutches.
Then just as swiftly as he struck,
He flys toward the horizon,
As the Maine sun slowly sets into night.
Flee my friends,
Old and new,
To the land of towering pines,
And crystal clear lakes.
The land of swooping swallows,
And tranquil summer wind,
That sweeps like velvet across the amber sunsets.
Flee my friends,
To where silence reigns,
A place where peace has domain.
We have survived the cold and snow,
Where winters icy wind did blow,
And now in springs mystic light, we stand,
So let us go to that promised land.
Flee my friends,
Wake up your souls,
Let them be free,
Like the pink blossoms that blow.
Frigid spring air,
Rolling dark clouds against an azure sky,
Pink blossoms fall like a gentle snow,
Onto bright green grass.
A Robin stands in the distance,
Redbreast glistening in the fading sun,
Worm hanging from his mouth,
As the wind picks up,
He heads for cover.
The rain begins with a sprinkle,
Building to a thundering roar,
As if someone opened the floodgates of heaven,
A bolt of lightning dances across the sky in the distance,
Like a dangerous ballerina pirouetting across a tempestuous sky.
Tree branches clatter in the raging winds,
Virgin leaves and pink blossoms,
Are scattered across the landscape.
Then, as swiftly as a hawk gliding across the heavens,
The torrent of rain begins to slow,
Dark gray clouds begin to roll out,
The wind returns to a gentler pace,
And the storm is gone.
That warm spring sun breaks through,
The sky clears, and the blossoms dazzle in the sun,
The Robin then hops out of his hiding place,
In search of another worm,
And nature’s joyful spring work carries on.
The fresh scent of a crisp spring evening,
Warm light dancing off a shimmering stream,
A Bluebird glides along on a velvet breeze.
Robins hop about merrily in search of a worm,
The placid vernal wind rustles the lime green early spring leaves,
And an Owl stands on a branch above it all,
Watching the sun dip below the mountain,
As dusk slowly encroaches.
These are the gentle moments of nature,
Where there is solace and hope,
And tranquility reigns supreme.