Walking along the shoreline, water calm, air crisp with spring’s promise. Beau sniffs and snuffles the grass and bushes at the edge of the road, seagulls swoop and screech overhead,

I meet a woman and her dog. She shares her joy of see a pod of eight Orcas surface close in to where she stood on the rocks yesterday as dusk began to settle in.

“They appeared, and then they were gone,” she said after telling me that three seals scampered onto the rocks as the Orcas passed. Her dog barely noticed them.

Her dog and Beaumont sniff. Lose interest and continue to smell the greenery all around where we stand at the edge of the ocean.

I haven’t seen the Orcas yet. Lots of Humpback but no Orcas.

I know I will. One day. Soon. I hope.

I continue walking along and something she said about her heart feeling like it was blossoming out when she spied the whales resonates. The muse picks up the thread and when I return home, these words wove their way into substance.

Hidden Voices 
by Louise Gallagher

Sing out loud, he urged,
but she held back, 
ignoring the melody 
stirring within her 
hidden behind the secrets of childhood.

Everyone can sing, he said gently. 
I don't dare, she demurred, 
then hummed a little tune to herself, 
a sweet, melodious note so pure,
the air stilled around her, 
rustled through the leaves 
swaying gently to her song.

That was beautiful, he whispered.

She shook her head, side to side
a nervous laugh escaping her lips
as soft as a moonbeam kissing the night.

It was nothing, she said. 
Nothing we do is ever nothing 
if we do it from the heart, he replied.

Her heart bloomed open, 
a flower releasing its fragrant song.

His words rang true, a siren call, 
urging her voice to rise up 
loud and strong 
no matter who was listening.