I knew a man who claimed he spoke with whales.
He would stand waist deep in the waves making
low sounds and whistles. The sea churned.
He would dip below the surface returning with all
sorts of news. The krill were plentiful this year;
the two baleen calves were thriving; the herd
was headed for Anchorage. A lighthouse on Alki
Point has a language all its own. Angles appear
when it speaks, and light from the center
of the universe flashes out into the bay reminding
captains not to paddle too close to shore. Think
about the magnolia trees growing above the sea.
They have blossoms more beautiful than peach
or apple trees, yet their leaves stay deep green all
winter long. These trees think they are evergreens
and no one is brave enough to tell them differently.
They are rule breakers like the huge rocks that stand
like sentinels along the shore pretending that in time
the sea and winds will not reshape them into tiny
bits of sand, or those who live out their lives never
understanding we are all born into captivity