To begin this section of poetry, here are three haikus which speak to our excessive heat this summer.

by Drea Dangerton

Cold water absent
Drive belt for water masses
Frayed, hardly churning

Storm cycles idle
Winds, calm or hurricane strength
Both catastrophic

Warm surface water,
Record temps, boil tide pools
Salish Sea clam bake

A Limpet’s Life

Debra Sherbina

I cling wet and lukewarm

grey-veined to the tide pool

Toe-level to an anemone forest where

pink jelly fronds puffle

Exhale and inhale to the undercurrent

A single digit (my big toe)

protrudes gubbling from my shell

Nailless like grey putty, it

moves over the slow stone surface

Extremely leisurely, unruffled

I’m an oozing pedestrian

A freshwater sea-thing

creeping silent, tentative

My periscope vision scans the sand meadow

greets the purple of sea urchins

Spiny in agate beds

a day’s rotation and I

Face a new direction

I’m quite pleased

to be snug and solitary because

I’m the axis of my galaxy

orbited by fishes, washed in green limelight

Discovery

By Jessica C. Levine

Leaping driftwood

beaming,

I race to tide pools.

Crouch,

observe;

sea

anemones wave

pink tentacles.

I let them kiss

my fingertips; a scratchy suck

as I pull away.

Water dissolves footsteps

in rippled earth.

A clam spouts

an arch knee-high.

I chuckle.

All that remains is a dimple

in sand.

Moon Snail

By Jessica Eskelsen

I put my foot down

more often than I used to.

Some say it’s my stubborn ways,

but it’s more about

what’s worth protecting.

I shield my children

and then I set them free.

But first I teach them to dig

and plough through salt

and grit, to bore holes

into truths,

to feast on all that is beautiful

and good in the world, because

there is plenty that isn’t.

And so it goes for seasons,

the push and the pull.

The hardest kinds of practice,

with little to show for it,

besides vacant shells and

stings that linger.

But I am wide and soft.

I am a universe. An anchor.

They are galaxies,

all whorls and mystery.

We dance well together.

Moons rise and tides sing,

there isn’t much time,

as though I needed

the reminder.

This Low Tide

By Jessica C. Levine

Walk with me

to the shallow waters

where the sand dollars

form a purple edge. 

Tread lightly

where they have buried themselves

standing obliquely in the sand. 

Subtle shapes wave the beach. 

Stand still in this warm pool

where nothing needs to be fixed, 

yet everything changes

with the tides. 

Watch the crabs hold

each other in embrace

as we flounder

feeling around for flat rocks. 

Skipping stones into the distance 

with a playfulness to treasure

like moon snails and stars. 

Jessica is a passionate observer of place. A three time Poetry on Buses poet, regular bike commuter and adventure cyclist, Jessica Levine is also a middle school science teacher, with a photographic eye, punny poetic ear, and love of learning and storytelling. 

Jessica Eskelsen is a writer and artist on a mission to tell and share good stories. She works as a communications consultant by day and spends her spare time exploring mossy forests with her kids, painting, and following endless rabbit trails of curiosity. Jessica has lived in the Snoqualmie Valley for over a decade, accompanied by her family and a handful of delightful non-human creatures. Find her online at www.jeskelsen.com.

Drea Dangerton: some of us were born to escape, some to be pirates, and some to accept our lot in life. I chose A. B is a back up.

Debra Sherbina was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. She graduated from the University of Washington and has a lifelong love of writing, reading, and the natural world. She believes that poems are one way to build connections and access the inner worlds of the imagination. She lives on Bainbridge Island with her husband, teenage daughter, cat, and gerbils.

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Thanks so much for your interest and your support.