Like an elf lost in magic woods
the old man hunches
on the end of a log.
Mist curls around pick-up sticks—
driftwood jumbled in the cove.
Red cap bobbing over long white beard,
clothes blue as the hands
he rubs over a fire
which sputters, complaining,
in heavy air. A trickle of smoke
wisps through hemlocks
and cedars up the cliff where I,
searching for sea lions and whales,
fall into a fairy tale
instead.