Pilgrim Path

This blog is the work of a seeker and poet. Walking stick in hand, I head out into the world, not of the world, but in the world. My words and my friends carry me along and light the pilgrim path of spiritual journeys.

Friday, December 07, 2007


After days of traveling, I’d hoped
to take a rest tonight in the hotel lounge.
Staring at a gentle, rolling fire.
Sitting in an overstuffed chair
sipping a dram of single malt whisky,
I’d settled in to a mood of quiet revelry
retelling in my head, tales of my journey so far.

Gently interrupted, though, by the call
of a water siren through the sea-facing window
where just hours earlier, the island’s mayor
had leaped inside demanding a rub
of his fulsome, furry tabby belly.

The keening grew insistent, demanding
attention despite my resolve to savor
an evening of gentle repose. And so,
I grabbed my coat and cane and strode
out into the dark for a pitch black walk
along the esplanade, praying not to step
on brave toads making their own pilgrimage.

The scent of the sea hung thickly
in the cool night air; a distant house light
across the sound on Mull, the only sign
of life on that spare island. But still,
the sound of the siren beckoned me on.

Happening on a break in the seawall,
I stopped to listen closely. But now the only
sound I heard was the steady wash
of waves rolling over seaweed and shells
left by the receding tide. Standing for minutes
that felt like hours, I was seduced
by nature and her wiles.

Returning to my tiny room, I shut my window
and brusquely closed the drapes. Eagerly,
I changed and just as quickly fell asleep.
The white noise of the waves, the soundtrack
of my dreams; the whisky, my potion; the siren, my muse.

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Anonymous R said...

I love this, you are so gifted.

P.S. My new blog... scratch that old URL I sent last night in that email. It is now http://someclearjoy.wordpress.com



3:55 PM  

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