end of the road ~ an old woman’s red cottage
perfectly perched ~ a stop atop
cliffs look out over vast expanse of sea
a tip-top of land ~ nature’s hand waves a roaring whisper
messages en-courage strength . . .
a hearty point
beginning and ending point
a diving point into ocean’s rhythmic rolling roar

reunions swim out beyond cliff’s edge
as deep dive meditation begins
a lulled time ~ a hushed hearing
bubbles up sweet sad feelings ~ caressing a wise old guide
a stilled time as hardened beliefs fade
reminders come and go ~ follow and know promises to set us free

south of land’s end a magical grove of wind swept trees
providies generous reassuring canopy
encouraging ~ to keep on keeping on
petrified witchy painted grove ~ caressed with angels’ wings
holds desperately onto a spit ~ a fragile land’s grip that means business
not for the feign of heart
this grove speaks reassurin’ encouragin’ words
wit a bit of Gaelic and Celtic salted wisdom
thar words can hit you upside the head
take yer off guard
slap ye around a bit hardly givin’ yer time to breathe:  

“Come on Lassie get your arse on out thar ~ nun likes the likes of a whimper’er, ev’er-on likes a larf, whether ye be liftin’ a pint or neigh! No one has time for a long face ~ get me salty drift . . . we don’t care how long you’s been sober!”  

a ‘we mean biz’ grove
a rough as they seem grove

a sheltered vista grove over merciless crashes and lashes of our frigid Pacific’s roar