This poem was written in honor of Muir Beach,
a great coastal village where I used to live.


"An Ode to Home"

Just beyond our yard
hear the soft rushing wind
as you close your eyes

These hills of gentle gold
solemn round mounds
of heather and brown
carved canyons weaving down
the old weathered silence of rocks
on hilltops speckled and splotched:
are rugged proof of time passing on

In the distance
the sea crashes.
Thundering waves pound and splash
the rugged rocks so steep and far below
white foam sprays into the sky
beneath boats on the horizon crawling by...
ocean currents and secret streams curve along
wild like a child's song.

This autumn wind
is pure, sweet, spicy
and visible changes in the air
bring dark afternoons of deep quiet
cool purity
and magic silence

Bay leaves splatter the forest floor
an ancient blanket covering soil
green, yellow, black
The misty smell of forest
and dreams of summer times forgotten
congeal into rich moist earth
that swallows it whole

I live for the stillness
and the wildness of this place.


-William R. Buck, 2000