It’s a hike, not a walk,
To the Dungeness Lighthouse.
The beginning is crowded with families
Tagging waves, spading sand.
Further on lovers sit smiling
On huge hunks of drift wood.
After a mile or so
Only explorers persist.
During estival days haze hangs
In the air from yesterday’s rain.
If sun glistens on water
The light blink seems part of the sea.
Big bellied freighters float by
With barely a glance.
To the Dungeness Lighthouse.
The beginning is crowded with families
Tagging waves, spading sand.
Further on lovers sit smiling
On huge hunks of drift wood.
After a mile or so
Only explorers persist.
During estival days haze hangs
In the air from yesterday’s rain.
If sun glistens on water
The light blink seems part of the sea.
Big bellied freighters float by
With barely a glance.
In winter cold grows
On the coast of Siberia.
The north wind forces the icy air
Down through Alaska.
There it lashes and slashes
Its way to the Washington shore.
The black ocean flexes
And bulges and breaks.
Roaring surf heaves floating trees
High on the beach.
Salt water mixes with fresh
In freezing sleet.
Ice plasters sea grasses
Down to the sand.
On the coast of Siberia.
The north wind forces the icy air
Down through Alaska.
There it lashes and slashes
Its way to the Washington shore.
The black ocean flexes
And bulges and breaks.
Roaring surf heaves floating trees
High on the beach.
Salt water mixes with fresh
In freezing sleet.
Ice plasters sea grasses
Down to the sand.
No glimmer of star
Can break through the overcast sky.
Still, without fail,
Far out on the spit
Flashes the lantern
Again and again.
Can break through the overcast sky.
Still, without fail,
Far out on the spit
Flashes the lantern
Again and again.
Written after hiking the 11 mile round trip to the Dungeness Lighthouse a few summers ago. Photos are also mine.
