Surviving The Storm
Along the foothills marsh-mists rise and fall;
by Thelma Schiller
Through glass I see their trail of fog across
The window-sky and sense a coming squall.
The leaves of shadow-deer and pine now toss
And curl around my shaky beach-craft words.
Alone at summer's end...limned sea waves roll
And ice-glass glaciers flash like slashing swords.
How store away this year...this summer scroll?
Join walkers in suburban malls, or hide
From man, and watch the sailship's rigging blow?
I'll live a hermit's life... while worlds collide
Now caught in cosmic strife, and hail, and snow...
Among storm traces write o rhythmic sea,
Till springtime comes again, and sets me free.