Is simply
A ten thousand year
Drought
I suppose that is the way
Of rainforest life
I hanker for the sun
Complain about the wet
But it exhausts me
when the sun stays too long
Tnorala rises
From a wide, flat plain
Dug out by a shooting star
Which fell to earth
If the bumblebee
Could do science
What world would its textbooks see
I love the chutzpah of communities
Which plunk themselves down on the edge of a continent
That the sea has been ferociously taking back
Since the land was born
I was intrigued by the shapes, and the somber mood of the clouds, and by the reflection the unloading facilities cast on Burrard Inlet. I shot off a series of photos, hoping something would work.
The sandstone
Began to rise
Some 200 million
Years ago
Leaving the water to carve
An infant, a toddler
The geological child
Of a mother, Earth, 4 billion years old
Time, and Nature
In harmony
Smoke on smoke
Thickens, on the rise
Islands and mountains
Fading, in steps of blues and tourquoise