Poems of Place

A Spot of Time

(Cannon Beach, Oregon)

In our spot, we walk barefoot on the hard sandy beach,
we jump over the waves as they slide in and slide out,
we shiver as the Pacific tickles our toes,
we feel the sun’s kiss on our day’s walkabout.

Our spot sparkles with light from the crests of the waves.
There’s seaweed and driftwood washed up on the shore,
an expanding horizon far beyond sight.
Here we hear sea gulls scream and the ocean roar.

Our spot has purple starfish and sea anenomes
hugging the rocks in Haystack Rock tidepools.
Here is Aunt Shirley painting beach scenes and family,
making them sparkle like rare precious jewels.

In our spot, we love the sand-castle contest,
we fear the rip-tide that will drag you down,
we taste salt-tangy air on our tongues and our hair
and salt water taffy from the shop in the town.

Our spot has a big wooden table in the house on the cliff,
with cinnamon rolls and scrambled eggs for our brunch,
seaweed-wrapped salmon cooked on the beach
in a fire-pit dug in the sand for our lunch.

In our spot, we’re embraced by the clan
of parents, brothers, grandparents, in-laws and cousins,
of uncles and aunts, nieces and nephews,
friends and friends’ friends and cousins’ cousins.

Cannon Beach is our spot of time
where we go in our minds when everyday cares
depress our spirits and bring us low.
This is our spot for our spirits’ repairs.