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Fidalgo Island

'All grown-ups were once children...but only few of them remember it.' 
– Antoine de Saint-Exupéry in The Little Prince

When we were kids, we agreed that Guemes and Cypress
looked like a boa digesting an elephant on some days,
and on others when the fog would roll in, the Loch Ness.
On the worn crumbled steps of the amphitheater, we gazed 
at the horizon dotted with islands, sails and orca fins 
and breathed in the air of moss-cedar damp and sea spray,
as time disappeared into campfire smoke and whispering wind.
But as the years rolled by we forgot about Fidalgo Bay.
We traded fog horns and seagulls for honking cars and whining
motor bikes, the salty breeze for an asphalt mirage that reminds
us of the mirrored surface of calm seas, the shining 
waves around the boa and the elephant we left behind.
Someday, when our backs are hunched and our legs need a cane, 
we’ll go back to a time of gray mists and steady rain.

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