A Scene On The Bay Of Fundy Poem by Bill Galvin

Up north in Atlantic Canada,
Natives refer to themselves
As people of the salt and the fir.

Spruce and balsam point their spires
Straight toward the heavens,
From moist green woods accented
With red maple, beech, and white birch.

Today, a choppy surf struggles to breach
A rugged sea wall by throwing spray
Over the top as an occasional foray,
To impress and remind the observer
That this is the world’s highest tide.

The stiff breeze brings promise
Of a cool late summer evening;
And white caps are revealed all over,
Like petticoats on a big square-dance floor.

The nearby buoy bell bobs obediently,
And rings its warning at the harbor mouth;
A distant lighthouse foghorn
Sends its plaintive sound seaward,
Carried as far as it can be wind-borne.

A thin low fog bank stretches from horizon
To a nearby head of land…
As if the Creator just swooshed a line
And said here’s where it will be today.
The lowering sun tries to peak under it,
And sends a reflection of it atop the waters.

Watch the interplay of fog and headland;
Slowly changing forms; rising; thickening;
Attaching; retreating; then dissipating
When winds ultimately shift…
One of Nature’s wonderful dances.

As the sun is close to setting, the winds slacken,
And the receding tide turns the scene into a memory.

A single cormorant flies back to its nest;
A straight, steady path, a meter or so over the water.


9-2-2015 (Fundy National Park, Alma, NB)