The Hermit Questions
By Lily Sky, Orcas
Secluded in a shallow bay, a hermit wades to his ankles and stops.
He ponders his purpose and his sanity:
One step further might mean deeper waters,
One step back will return him to reality.
He stands on the brink of indecision,
His feet moist under sand and seaweed
And wonders at the world’s complexity,
Will it matter? Will there be consequences?
In the sky seagulls complain and screech at invisible dancers in the air,
They swoop and dive and disturb the peaceful.
The hermit can feel the mood grow thick,
He can see the tension swirl and flicker.
He holds his breath – feels his lungs protest!
The wind swirls by, tickling his nose,
But still he stands motionless.
Could I live without this, he questions,
Without the sun, the air, the land?
Without the trees, the fields, the earth beneath my feet?
He wants to shout and thrash his arms,
But they are calm, hanging like sodden logs against his body.
He can hear his heart pounding in his ears,
And yet he abstains from appeasing this desire.
He wants to connect and share his feelings too,
But this urge was suppressed long ago – the time for that has passed.
Slowly he lets the salty air satisfy his plaintive lungs
And concentrates on the sun’s warmth soaking into his bare back.
He has become centered in himself again,
He has become attuned with nature again.
He muses now over delicate stones, tumbled for centuries by turbulent oceans,
And knows in his bones that he can’t withdraw completely.
He knows, too, that he doesn’t want to shut out the islands around him –
They keep him grounded and are too much a part of him.