“Gather at Colvos Passage” and “Legacy”

“Gather at Colvos Passage” and “Legacy”


at Colvos Passage

In summer months

sun and moon rise from the same spot,

a point northeast of my porch, the place I welcome morning.

Yesterday day breaks over the point.

Paddling on water I meet its path

wondering if natives greeted Mountain and heron on this route.

Kelp spread her tendrils in the current.

Minnows dart through her curls.

Dolphin poise collecting catch.

Deep into night

moon casts light on the same locale.

A thumbnail over the Sound.

Weeks ago I stare over sacred passage

at dawn after vigil at mother’s bed.

Waiting and watching

sun and moon rise from the same spot

at her chest. Clavicles open and close, open and close

like angel’s wings ushering breath.

Intervals at times. I count the seconds between rhythms

like currents beating onto shore.

There, there is no pause.

There is no crossing over the night

weight of glory fills the room.

She reaches to go, glances and hesitates.

Her hand withdraws.

Observing rise and fall, rise and fall

from eventide to morn

I return home to rest.

It is Sunday. Above the passage

an angel wing gathers

as a cloud.


Resting above the row of pines dawn fades

rose to lavender to blue.

The same tall pines that rim the lake brush

their tips along the glassy surface.

A mirror to sky’s pastels.

A lone owl greets morning with one note.

Sparrows chatter in the background with unknown others.

A long train whistle answers from the eastern bank.

A family of ferns waves from the lakeshore.

One tender green shoot peeks behind a splay of mature fronds.

Another bends to the south while others stand straight at attention

greeting the change in light. The sun has risen over the hill.

One phase of the moon has passed

since her house behind ferns was full.

Three generations burst through its seams

followed by stories, laughter, then tears.

A moon waning gibbous is giddy.

Bright before it dims into

last quarter’s sorrow.

In the hours following the final

setting of the stone

dusk fills her house with those succeeding her

who wave from the lakeshore

whose tears fade to smiles.

About the Author

Vina Mogg

Vina Mogg is a Northwest native, raised in Tacoma, Washington, who graduated from Ohio State University in English Education. After living in Windermere, Florida, for 30 years, she has returned to the Northwest to gaze at Mt. Rainier from her home in Gig Harbor, Washington. For the past six years she has been writing regarding issues about Alzheimer’s and family on her website, seaglasslife.com. She has been a guest writer on Huffingtonpost.com, grandparentslink.com, Redbudwriters.com and mudroomblog.com. Last year she published “Messy Edges” in an anthology of essays compiled by Leslie Leyland Fields, 40 Women over 40 on Faith, Aging, Beauty and Strength and in “Throw a Hail Mary” in Ruminate Magazine.

Read more work by Vina Mogg.