Our purpose in life is once again given to us,

upon our conscience awaking.

The breath that expands our lungs is the gift of a new day.

We could easily leave this life under the guise of slumber,

but as our feet touch the solid surface of the next morning,

we move from the past.

Inhale, exhale and fill our existence,

with the freedom of life-giving air.

We all exchange the same molecules,

which extends the stay here on earth.

This present moment is new life,

this moment is our next chance,

to qualify for the future.

We need to step softly or to step boldly,

but always step forward,

for life give no reward for stepping back.

Tribute to a Lady                  

The essence of the Chesapeake Bay will always be symbolized,

by one true sailing vessel, the Skipjack.

Time is etched in the deep furrows of the worn, wooden decks,

the spirit of the oystermen forever displayed,

in the stained copper plates which cover their cypress hulls.

Recall the seasons when this heavy-hulled workboat,

tilled the bay’s floor in search of shellfish.

Using only mainsail and tiller to provide direction,

the waterman repeated an ageless ritual, once the life blood of the bay,

only now a hallowed memory.

The unfurling of canvas sails and stringing of hemp nets,

characterized the daily duties of the oystermen.

Daybreak was greeted by raised mainsails and haul lines,

straining against the winch drum, anticipating a bountiful result.

The oysters are hauled aboard and culled by these merchants of the Chesapeake.

The oystermen possessed a keen eye and deep respect for the bounty,

sorting the catch, more an art than drudgery.

Rejected oysters are returned to the deep,

the remaining catch provided the ultimate feast for the palate.

But now, the winches lay silent and the decks are empty.

Deep waters of the bay have given this vessel character, her independence,

but time has exacted a heavy toll from the heritage she once helped to shape.

Final respects can be paid to these mighty, wooden symbols,

residing quietly in harbors and museums worthy of their presence.

Visitors stand next to the gunnels of these majestic giants,

dreaming of a time when men, who had a deep love for wood and the bay,

combined their spirits to sail the Chesapeake.

I stood in a solitary place for what seemed a lifetime,

but only a few moments.

I witnessed a most spectacular event,

the coming of the dawn!

At that exact moment,

the sun broke the horizon and lifted to the heavens,

appearing from behind a shroud of trees.

A fireball of light with such strength,

I reluctantly had to shield my eyes.

With one continuous push this miracle of our existence,

once again gave us a new day.

I was humbled by the sight but energized,

thankful I lived this exact moment in time.

If one does not take the time to recognize the gift of a new day,

then they indeed miss the true meaning of being alive.