I imagine you at Botanical Beach
alone by a campfire before sunset
in your Cowichan sweater, gazing
across the Strait of Juan de Fuca, where a
bald eagle hovers in the sky like a mirage,
escaping the stresses, the responsibilities,
of giving, always giving, never taking.
Do you ever reflect on
the abuses of your youth? I have seen
your hidden tears and wondered.
You toss a bit of wood on the fire,
sparks shattering in the fading light,
your burden receding with the tide and the light
until in the darkness, under the stars,
your spirit soars again.