Praying at the Edge of the World

My lips form the words of songs suited to warm Mediterranean waters
As the cold arctic seas lap at my boots
My eyes do not face olive groves
they take in the expanse of glaciers, snow capped mountains
Bald eagles watch me, warily

My lips sing of Zion and Jerusalem
only heard by a few scant fishermen
casting in hope of early morning salmon
drab boots and waders
Ears that cannot understand my words

I rock gently, intent on my prayers
facing the stony cliffs to the east
a mainland a world away from sandy desert
the tide rises higher, covering my boot tops
my feet crunching shells of mussels

I look to the mountains
where does my help come from?
My mountains are a retreat for snow
crouching, never giving up its grip
waiting for the time to retake the land

I breathe in the sea air and sigh contentedly
closing my siddur and kissing it gently
returning it to the safety of my pack
I pick up my fishing rod
rejoining the early salmon hunters near me

I am both foreigner and so at home
my heart in both places
my feet in one
my mind a wandering traveler
always restless

3 thoughts on “Praying at the Edge of the World

    1. Thank you. It really was a privilege to get to daven each day in such a beautiful and inspiring place! I made a point of getting up early so I could enjoy it in the early morning stillness and it was well worth it!

      Liked by 1 person

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