PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Somewhere in the Bearing Sea, 755 miles west of Anchorage, Alaska, lies St. Paul Island (part of the Pribilof Islands).  In the southwest corner of the island the coastline forms a stair-step pattern in the rocky ground; alternating between 10 to 15 foot high cliff faces and 20 to 30 foot wide stretches of flat surface.  This stair-step pattern repeats two or three times as it descends into the sea.



On days when a strong wind blows from the west huge waves are pushed against the first cliff face at the water’s edge.  This majestic crashing of waves echoes off the next cliff face and seems to be amplified in the narrow space between the first cliff edge and the next cliff face.  The thunderous crash becomes a roar that fills the air as it shakes the rocky ground.  A wall of sea water lunges skywards from the first cliff’s edge, rising 20, 30, sometimes 40 feet into the air.  Some waves rain down as a spray of large droplets, others become a crumbling wall of icy seawater filling tidal pools and drenching the barren rock ground.



Often times I would stand on the flat area between the sea level and the next cliff face; a faded green, military issue parka enveloped around me.  I would watch the waves driving towards the island and feel them crash into the first wall of rock.  In that narrow space the very air shook with each thunderous crash.  The impacts shook the rock below my feet and the deep bass roar echoed and resonated deep within my chest, down to my bones.  On more than one occasion, as I stood too close to the edge, a wave caught me unaware and rained a torrent of drenching, icy sea water down on me.