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" 53 "
Fifty-three years; hurricane warning
Flat calm sea; foggy, wet morning
Alder leaves soft; rain on head
Fresh buck rubs; companion's red
Could have eaten grouse; didn't bother
Brought back thoughts; hunting with my father
Grading oysters; fishing prawns
Expect that it will blow by dawn
Night is falling; tide's going down
We'll scout for oysters in the Sound
Pitch-black night, thick fog; old growth pine loom
On this tide set; there is no moon
Not much for oysters; beaches spot-lit glare
Timeless songs of Nuu-chat-nulth; rising in the air
Wandering about the inlet; thinking " fuck it "
How did I ever pick all those buckets
Later, lights are bright and movie's on play
Bart and Homer have their say
Birthday presents and card; peach pie from my wife
I'm so very blessed; to live this way of life
Another birthday; another great day
Sitting, drinking wine; in 3-Bay
Kevin Vautier is a fisherman, oyster fisherman, clam digger and a poet who works the sea on the west coast of Vancouver Island.
Email: Kevin Vautier
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