Island Moment

by Sarah J. Martin

And here am I, scraggy, windblown, alone,
scoured by sun and rain and hail,
raising weary branches
and lifting my offering to the sky.
My comrades, only broken sticks and bits of stone,
scrub junipers with solace nor with shade.
“It looks so peaceful,” say the tourists who pass by,
“so romantic and so brave—
that little island over there.”
The other trees,
safe on the long and solid shore
see me, and they wave.
They have no idea,
standing there surrounded and backed
by rank on rank of company,
how it is to have nothing but changeful air,
a rocky bit of ground to which to cling,
and ever, all around, the restless sea.

Sarah lives in the rocks and trees of cottage country, where she loves family, words, old books and buildings, and light in all its forms.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy

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