Old Bonds
Arm over arm, paddling
Through whitewash- over, under-
Afloat in the lineup, lone surfer.
Midmorning surf- a rare day where the
Wind has waned and clean peaks
Roll in from the Pacific expanse.
Dolphins and seals- the sea mammals-
Jump and play in the sets, darting
Through each roller as if in a race.
As each wave peaks, they leap from
The sea’s confines, and fly through the
Air, swift and smooth.
And here I come- the land mammal-
Bumbling along without grace or poise,
Waddling and paddling like some little duck.
But on the rare instance, as I arrange
Myself with the towering breaker, I stand
And find the same serenity as my mammalian brethren.
And for a few seconds we are one;
Our long journeys converge
In breathable blue, riding waves.
Lucas O. Seastrom was born and raised on the family farm in California’s Sacramento Valley. He now makes his time as a student of film and literature on the Northern California coast. He is a writer, filmmaker, and historian.
Arm over arm, paddling
Through whitewash- over, under-
Afloat in the lineup, lone surfer.
Midmorning surf- a rare day where the
Wind has waned and clean peaks
Roll in from the Pacific expanse.
Dolphins and seals- the sea mammals-
Jump and play in the sets, darting
Through each roller as if in a race.
As each wave peaks, they leap from
The sea’s confines, and fly through the
Air, swift and smooth.
And here I come- the land mammal-
Bumbling along without grace or poise,
Waddling and paddling like some little duck.
But on the rare instance, as I arrange
Myself with the towering breaker, I stand
And find the same serenity as my mammalian brethren.
And for a few seconds we are one;
Our long journeys converge
In breathable blue, riding waves.
Lucas O. Seastrom was born and raised on the family farm in California’s Sacramento Valley. He now makes his time as a student of film and literature on the Northern California coast. He is a writer, filmmaker, and historian.