Call of the Waters

I lay here on my bed,
heavy with gravity
and the dregs of winter,
and dream of floating on warm water
green and diamond sparkled in the afternoon,
and the cry of seagulls
and the smell of salt.

The years have passed,
but I remember how it called to me
and how it felt to wade in it,
and what it was like,
to just sit on the shore,
watching the pelicans at sunrise.

Sitting up,
I look out the window at mountains
and consider how it feels to be up in the heights,
surrounded by the silence and wind,
sunlight in the meadows,
the murmur of the trees –
a good place,
yet I know
that mountains do not have all the answers,
and at last,
even they will wash down
into the green depths
of Mother Ocean.

It is powerful,
the call of the waters –
if even the mountains cannot resist,
how can I?