Perpetually they roll
washing hourly against
the withstanding rock.
Lulls there may be
days when waves lie flat,
the sea regroups
but the war will carry on;
assaulting waves, aroused,
will return, be repelled,
yet grain by grain the granite
will yield bits of itself
to the relentless breakers.
I stand amazed, watching
the ceaseless sea at work,
knowing I won’t live to see
waves pull even a foot
of this resistant rock
into their briny depths.
Knowing this conflict will rage
to perpetuity.
The Ragtag Daily Prompt today is THUNDEROUS and I actually found two ways of using it.
Image by Kanenori — Pixabay
The storm had moved on, leaving a few trailing rumbles and a stiff breeze. Thunderous waves were still crashing on the rocks as I began my afternoon walk, strolling along the dunes overlooking the beach. I always start out facing the wind; I find going home is so much easier with the wind pushing you along.
I noticed an osprey braving the breezes as well, soaring high above the churning waves. Must be hungry. Probably missed his lunch because of the storm. I stopped to watch as the bird dived toward the surface, talons extended.
What sort of prize would it have as it rose into the air again? But the bird didn’t rise. It screamed as it fought to lift off and I caught sight of a writhing curve of scales. A huge fish; a good lunch indeed. I watched the contest for awhile, fascinated.
The osprey battled bravely but its prize seemed too great to pull out of the water. I wondered why the bird didn’t give up and let go, then the light dawned: its claws were likely hooked in the fish so that it couldn’t let go. I observed sadly as the osprey, screaming and beating the air, slowly lost strength.
Finally the bird’s strength was gone and it settled on the roiling water before a large wave rolled over it. I watched in horror as its wings thrashed the water for a moment, then with one last wild scream the osprey sank under the wave.
The next morning dawned calm and sunny, so I walked along the dunes again, scanning the shore. Finally I spotted the bodies of the osprey and its fish, still hooked together, lying on the beach where the sea had tossed them. That fish would have made a great dinner. Seagulls were feasting on both.
September sea
blue-grey now, brindled
with flecks of sea birds
bobbing among the waves.
September shore
sporting its summer’s-over
attire of left-behinds,
a disorderly lost-and-found
for the sea to straighten out.
Christine's Collection 