The beauty of this place
Sweet, salted sea air Pine and palm Sugar sand and St. George Island – sand dollar, shark tooth “TomTom, how you doin’?” “I’m doin’ alright.” Tillie Miller Bridge between here and Tiki – Plump, Gulf shrimp and Apalach oysters Hickory smoked chicken and ribs (no rub) and sunfried jellyfish
Seagulls Sea terns Great blue herons Dolphins spyhop and blow every now and then Distant light on Dog Island in a 2:20 AM blueblacknight
Sopchoppy Eastpoint Panacea Alligator Point
A few days back Julie and Artie left, again, having returned from leaving once before and we all walked this beach, beyond the pine tree point, further than any of us had gone before – sea-silvered driftwood, beheaded brown pelican in the brambles of sea grass and pine needles Warming sun Cool, hard-packed, low tide sugar sand under bare feet Sassy leaping pine-stained, sepia rivulets
The laughing gull has returned each morning, greeting and reclaiming its territory and, more than likely, calling out “Sea urchin!” to the others that, eventually, return — glide, drift, rise and drop, land Eat, stay — then, again, depart — leaving this length of calm, shallow bay to terns, herons and egrets to forage
The beauty of this place is as intricately delicate as the silent glideflight of eleven brown pelicans in singular formation, skimming the shallow wave crests – moving from east to west – becoming, eventually, a pulsing line disappearing into the horizon
The beauty of this place
The red smirch of Crystal hot sauce spilled at the edge of a previous high tide line, scattered with Apalachicola oyster shells from our early evening appetizers, has been consumed by the storm-driven, rough chop of last night’s rain, wind and the approaching full moon Wind out of the Southeast, breaking diagonal crests of gunmetal gray and the red buoy strains on its chains as the tide shifts and the channel churns
There is violence in the beauty of this place, too – ships lost, lives swallowed whole, coyotes grab dogs, alligators grab anything
Waves meet land and visibly reverberate back into water, again –
making unmaking remaking
A broken buoy drifts Freed until it’s caught on low tide sea grass before this tide turns The sun breaches darkening, layered afternoon storm clouds to the West, while brilliantly illuminating the etched, white sandbar over there
Burble of language bounces inside my ear – “Hey! How you doin’?” heard so often it becomes as familiar and unnoticed as the wave and the air and this light
The beauty of this place is as much a mystery to me as you
Bert and Kathy, Hattie and Zack – come and met and gone Orange and onion salad, frittatas made and shared Al and Sandy, Sharon and Larry, Scotty, Doug, Gen and Ted Sun-warmed, woman laughing with Pat — LaVerne with her easy, flashing Apalach smile Kim and Tony and oystering all Monday morning across from St. Vincent because the rip was too chopped
Three brilliant, crested egrets graze along this shore, dolphins pass and blow and continue on, as heedless of us as the swarm of terns that rise and twist and glide away to feed further down on this storm-tossed, driven gloss
WOYS, Oyster Radio, 100.5 FM, plays softly as the shrouded sun journeys further West The playful pinwheel whirls and chatters, stick jammed between the weathered 1st and 2nd boards of that well-worn picnic table Just outside this open window, burlap oyster bag flaps
Steelwater, forbidding wind along this coast of Carrabelle Another invisible finger whips this water, etching new (yet ancient) patterns
Tide turns, distant sandbar, barrier beach revealed Unseen fish school as flocks follow and feed, far off
Damp, salted air Thin, singular electric line that leads from shore to dock light Whisper of wave and wind
The beauty of this place
No matter where I go nor what I do, the beauty of this place will taste like home as salt is in my tears
The apparent void dissolved The horizon I can never reach will always draw me in, seeming to want to go further than my eye can see, when the greatest daring starts within
The beauty of this place…
~ ~ ~
Dedicated to: Suzanne Creamer, Stephine McDowell, Marlene Moore, Jennifer Moro, Albert Otis, Jennifer Pickett, C.J.(Joe)Pouncey, Sassy, Judi Rundel
~ ~ ~
HoHum RV Park/Carrabelle, Florida/January-February, 2004
(c)Jessan Dunn Otis / 2004-2017
Jessan Dunn Otis|Writer 
Jessan, what a pleasure to read your poetry. This one evokes such sweet memories! That was our first “January-trip” after Artie retired, and one of our best! When we met you, Al, and Sassy, we fell in love with the floor-plan of your RV … and we waited to find our own 38-J. We got one in 2009, and have really enjoyed it. Hope our paths cross again, Julie
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Hello Jessan- Yes, this poem does take me back to Florida….. You could be describing my hometown beach, Playalinda. I grew up with all of the beauty that you describe in your poem, “The beauty of this place”. I do think that growing up in the seventies in Titusville was like growing up in the land of the lost. The road led to the swamp, which led to the oak hammock, which led to the marshes, which led to the dunes, which led to the beach. Playalinda Beach is part of the Cape Canaveral National Seashore that surrounds the Kennedy Space Center. I worked two summers for the Youth Conservation Corp. You brought me back to the time of seagulls and salt and the sand. I admit, sometimes I really miss it. Thanks for your poem. Love Kelly.
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This reminds me of CD Wright’s use of lines in Rising, Falling, Hovering. And the repetition recalls Carole Maso in Break Every Rule. Inspired to write more place-based work! ❤
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CD was a reader/adviser of mine when I did my graduate work at Brown University for my MFA. Thank you, Meia. I am, of course, also familiar with Carole Maso’s work. Thanks, again. Yes! Yes! Be inspired and write, Meia.
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Dear Julie, Some things take longer than others – my reply to your comment is one of them. Time! Whoosh! I’m delighted to know that you, finally, found that 38-J. Al and I had looked at several floor plans and, also, loved that one. We miss being on the road. Meeting you and Artie at Ho Hum is one of our singularly wonderful memories. Those oysters! That view! Oh my! If you’re ever in and/or near Little Rhody, please give us a shout out; and, let’s see if we can cross paths (face-to-face), again – yes? Love all ’round. Journey safe.
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