Cape Lookout State Park, Coastal Northwest Oregon
Cabin Camping Trip, Day 3, December 11, 2024, Wednesday
Near the town of Tillamook, Oregon, Netarts Bay and Three Arch Rocks
We left our Netarts Cabin at Cape Lookout State Park today. We drove home, via Oregon 6, to Portland.
Nice weather. Clear skies. Around 50 degrees F.
The Dusk Before Darkness
Where moving shadows born of sunshine rays,
Lighter and darker marks in the corners all days,
Unreadable messages from Solar Scribes for me.
Some subtle shadows drawn on moonlit trees,
Blurred and fleeting pockets of mystery to me,
Lost in the blackness of the nighttime breeze.
Night-Time creeping in, crickets chirping up a din.
No moon, No stars, No city street lights;
Darkness setting slowly and comfortably in.
A few frogs croaking love songs in the dark,
Moths fluttering into a white hot lantern
on a crazy addicted deadline lark,
Bats flapping by for breakfast, eating fluttering bugs.
Surf side sounds rumble over the invisible dunes,
Crabs and razor clams will crawl about at low tide soon,
Turtles will waddle up the shore, dig, lay eggs,
Guided by the moon, reproduction, life and doom,
In the restless dark and foamy gloom.
My flashlight sliced a path through the woods,
My cane balanced my wobbly walk for good.
Hearing the hoot of an owl in the canopy,
I walked along as slowly as I could,
Listening to the mysterious snoring damp woods.
Hera and Hypnos tried to lure me to sleep.
But 30 knot winds kept me awake,
And saved me from Nyx's minions from Hades Lake.
Chaos gave birth to Darkness and Day,
Erebus and Hemera - another way to Say,
Gods named and ancient myths for today.
Nighttime gods and goddesses mourning,
Following the Black Way to the Thanatos Graves.
My yurt at Cape Disappointment shook in the Winter storm,
I sat on the covered yurt porch, bundled up and warm;
Dark rain, cold campground so dark, everyone inside today.
The campground nearly empty these bitter January days.
The uninviting dark wet night keeps them all away.
Silence reigned that dreary soaked day,
Even keeping all of the animals hiding away.
Coming Dawn, rosy reds, sunshine slides West overhead;
Leaving Dusk, darkening pinks, sun gone down, it is said:
Reminders of the Dead.
The incandescent lamp!
Only one lamp in my yurt, not very bright,
Yet it allows me to read and write all night,
Supported by an electric Coleman lantern light.
The whole world works by electric lights.
Day and night, day and night, Month after Month,
For Year after busy Year, lighting bright the night sky;
In factories and stores and homes worldwide.
Work, work, work ... earning a living - we try.
Is such serious night pollution really wise?
Did the Milky Way disappear in the bright city sky?
Are circadian rhythms distorted and altered by and by?
Will some species become extinct from the loss of Night?
Turn off the lights, cuddle in the covers,
Start to slumber, sink into sleep,
Enjoy the darkness of the dreamless
La Petite Mort, alone, in darkness steeped.
Pacific Coast Memories: U.S. Highway 101 and 1.
At the Edges of the West.
By Michael P. Garofalo
Docu-Poems, Haiku, Concrete Poetry, Photographs, Songs
Images from the Internet of the Oregon Coast
