“On soft Spring nights I’ll stand in the yard under the stars – Something good will come out of all things yet – And it will be golden and eternal just like that – There’s no need to say another word.”
― Jack Kerouac,
In honor of our trip, here’s my own hand at poetry.
Otters lay in their seaweed beds, drifting.
a glorious spray of salty water on the rocks,
where coast meets mountain.
where the trees swath the leaf-coated ground in cool shade,
and when the sun sets, ancient stars move across the sky,
telling us we are nothing.