Vacation

Sun and shadow shroud the cliffs of the Grand Canyon as a

   Condor soars on air currents high above the Colorado River.

The San Francisco peaks are on the horizon but you cannot

   hear clanging cable cars, 

      see the Golden Gate Bridge or

         feel the ghosts of Alcatraz in the same-named city.

Pacific waters ripple over my feet in British Columbia, Ventura,
   and remote Mexican beaches with pelicans.

Cold Atlantic waves chill me in Newfoundland, Fundy, Rhode Island, 
   and New York City by the Statue of Liberty.

I stand atop Sulphur Mountain, Mount Washington, and float in the fault that

   holds the Dead Sea.

We cross Canada by land and sea from Victoria to Cape Spear, 
   over mountains, through prairies and forests, 

      and hear a loon laugh, the moon mirrored on a quiet lake. 

I listen to music in concert halls, on streets, in the hum of markets
   in Boston, Vancouver, Jerusalem, Guadalajara,

      and at home.

I ride a camel, travel by air, ocean liner, train, bicycle, bus 
   and drive California State Route 1.

History beckons from castles, cathedrals, communities, 
   and the Alamo.

Our world is large, yet closer, smaller and more

   accessible in modern times.

I watch a bright yellow Goldfinch tentatively

   remove a seed from a dead flower in my garden and

      wash it down with a sip from the bird bath beside me.

The search for beauty, relationship, rest, holiness,

   amidst the clamour of life brings

      a holiday for my soul.