From the archives – Christmas Passing — Patricia Wallace Jones

Christmas Passing

Dressed in green and arriving by creek
instead of the path, I startle the dogs.
They circle me to protect a man
I assume is a drifter, the bearded one
who built a fire, slept on the beach
on Christmas Eve.

He calls them in, offers me coffee
from a stainless cup, looks to the bluff
and thanks me for the light-strung tree.

We talk a bit, throw sticks to the dogs
until taken by a rise of sea-bound gulls,
flashes of white on a winter front,
we lapse into silence
to let the season pass between us.

I climb home, look over my shoulder,
see only the great heron
closer to me than he’s ever been.

by Patricia Wallace Jones

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, January 10, 2018

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim


One response to “From the archives – Christmas Passing — Patricia Wallace Jones”

  1. Margot Avatar

    I love this poem.  It’s perfect for today.  Patricia paints a picture, creates a mystery, and I can hear the gulls.  The last line about ‘the great heron’ is ominous.  It makes me wonder . . . 

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