The Crossing

The Crossing

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Arms hug across our chests
Like chilly birds we flap
to warm ourselves
against the wind
whipping at our faces.

The ferry groans and shifts
An old lady, she makes her way across
the bay, begrudging and proud
all together.

We sit on benches
watery eyes squinting at the cold
Like hardy parishioners, 
embattled, determined
hopeful.

Across the bay
the island sleeps
Waiting out winter's
crisp embrace, 
this haven is of
God's own making.

Still from the cacophony of
summer's voices,  
their lives go on in the off
season.
Connected
yet separate
Tethered by
this crossing
of the sea.


 

 

 

North Haven

North Haven

A Place of Silver Glinting

A Place of Silver Glinting