A Glory of Gulls

November pulled up a gray cloud blanket last night, making today a good one for writing about a memory of light.

Three years ago, almost to the day (11-21-2008), I came out of the main seminary building at AMBS, heading towards my car, and had the great good fortune to witness an incredible combination of birds and sunset. I've tried finding words for the experience several times. Mary Oliver's Snow Geese almost fits, but also inspired me to try my own poem version.

Glory of Gulls  -- Sally Weaver Glick
“Oh, to love what is lovely and will not last!” 
                                    from Snow Geese, by Mary Oliver

 Mine were not geese,
            but gulls
                half-glimpsed,
                a white-winged swirl,
                        sunset lit,
                against dark clouds.

A few?
    A flock?
            I turned to look
            but found
                no end, no bound, no
                    one last bird

only more and more
        a migration,
                a jubilation,
                        a glory of gulls.

A river,
        ever flowing from the south,
                dim grey ghosts
                        in a grey sky, till
                caught by the light
                        they blaze
                            into bright life

and fly on
    northwards,
            a flurry now of golden notes
                    floating
                drifting
                    dancing a silent song,

a thousand flickering flames,
        tongues of fire,
                fiery sparks
                    scattered by the setting sun. I

catch my breath,

and drink delight.

The gulls have gone
and I've gone on, yet
still

I stand
and gaze,
gaze again
and breathe out
                     glory

                     glory

                      glory.