SENSING MONHEGAN

With eyes closed
I sense our approach
seas churn beneath and
the boat nears the hidden harbor
ensconsed behind Manana’s looming cloak
I sense her enormity on the right as we slip past,
smutty nose off to portside
the dock is near
we come clumping up to the boards and hit home

with eyes closed, I wait for the small crowd to disembark
and I savor my own private exultation, waiting
until I can make my way quietly onto the pier
and slip through the mystified lurkers
waiting for what I’m sure I don’t know

with eyes closed and my bag slung over a shoulder
I climb the hill
sensing roses and lilies in bloom
the meadow’s sweet, broad haven calls,
its song soft and sultry in the early morning sun
that warms my shoulders as I round the corner
heading toward the place that will be my home for a while…

the rumbling trucks sound their calls
and I step gingerly aside
an island cat seizes the opportunity to say hello
with a tentative ankle rub
I pause to stroke his ears
and wonder if he’ll follow me

then I wonder what my little room will be like this time,
will it be all white and soft and wonderful
will the lace curtains float like laundry in the breeze
when I fling the window wide?

I will take pleasure in unpacking my few things –
an extra pair of jeans, a couple of old flannel shirts
and lots of socks
my journal and a sketch pad, binoculars
and a good book to read
and I’m home in my little island world – this is all I need
when I live here
so free from all that is cumbersome

and eyes closed
I head out into this beckoning world
sensing sea & sky
sensing the firm anchored rootedness of sun-warmed rocks
sensing emerald green grass on the highlands
soft, cushioning moss blanketing the forest floor
sensing patches of blue beyond the overhead lace
of myriad branches above
sensing the kingfisher as he alights on the wire
that spans the ice pond
sensing the simple joys that are all around me
for as long as I’m here and yes,
long after too.

Sensing Monhegan

Lucia Weinhardt