A Spirit’s Journey - by David Petty An Indian spirit travels the Pacific Northwest searching for her lost mate. For centuries she’s flown in hopes of finding the soul of her lost love. She sets out over a damp chilled fog hovering over Puget Sound. A ferry boat signals its horn, playing Marco Polo with other ships, In the misty blanket as they navigate the strong currents. The eastern face of Mount Rainier looms in the distance. Before it greets the dawning sun, its silhouette is a hue of purple. The golden-yellow light splashes. The snow morphs to a brilliant orange. Westward, the moon is dissolving above the Olympic jagged spires, As they carve themselves into the pale blue skies, Extending somewhere far over the Pacific waters. She witnesses veils of damp, cool clouds as they slowly creep into the valleys, And hug the cedars standing watch over old growth forests of the Cascades. Midday her spirit searches the city where once laid village of her people. Three-spire tops of tepees, replaced by the single pinnacle of the Space Needle. Merchants cackle, haggling with tourists over present souvenirs; Fake wooden totems and scrimshaw goods crafted from the bones of whales. The aroma of boiling shrimp and fresh fish score the air at Pike Place Market. The delights of tourists heard as fresh salmon are sent sailing through the air, Into the waiting arms of the fish-mongers, in the blink of an eye. Gulls caw as they forage food from the hands of an unsuspecting boy. Colorful kites with streaming tails and broad chests shimmy, Slow and gentle against the inland breezes over Elliott Bay. The spirit despairs, for there are no traces of his soul here. Northward she hears Orcas as they breach the pristine waters, Of the northern straits, their blowholes spewing spray high, Against the backdrop of San Juan Island, a gem in the Sound. Turning inland, the spirit smiles, as she looks down over regal eagles, Perched atop evergreens along Skagit River and in the shallows and eddies, Silver and red flashes as salmon spawn as they have for centuries. Over a small valley, a White-tailed deer has perked its sleek head, As it takes notice of a giant beaver paddling across a still pond, Pushing timber for its lodge. The ripples betraying his presence. Beyond is the Olympic Rain Forest. Her love brought her here often. Every tree is draped with minute mosses amidst the woody scent of the forest floor. Within the fauna and flora are scattered fungi in ornate shapes and blended colors. Life was good here. She wishes she could find him. Late afternoon she reaches the coast. A strong salty scent of seaweed in the air, Pays homage to the where the straits meet the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Strong winds are matched by the pounding waves as they crash against pillars of rock, Rising like fingers from the surf. She remembers ships coming here to trade with her tribe. The spirit watches as the burning sun gives itself to the horizon of the ocean. Sadly, this day is no different than the thousands before it. She slowly returns to her refuge, Hopeful of what tomorrow might bring in this paradise lost. She sleeps.
Posted on: Thu, 27 Jun 2013 03:34:27 +0000
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