By Christine Penko
It happens every year.
The near distant islands—Santa Cruz, Anacapa—float
into hard focus while light glints off waves so bright
our eyes water. Winds that blew torrents of flame
down our mountains subside to this still pocket of time.
Time for forty-two crows to silence their calls and merely adorn
the bare-skinned sycamore. Time for our stolen
gardens to fill their greenness with a new quiet—
a greening at rest. Time to look to our mountains’ scarred
faces as to faces of those we love.Time and time again,
to live in this dream we walk through.
Originally published in the Winter 2017/18 issue of Santa Barbara Seasons Magazine.