When the Crowds Drift Away
In summer’s glow, the city wakes,
The harbor stirs, the shoreline aches.
Footsteps echo on bustling streets,
As travelers chase their summer feats.
The boats bring stories from distant seas,
The markets hum with ocean breeze.
Cafés brim with laughter, light,
And the days stretch long into the night.
But seasons turn, as seasons do,
The autumn air grows crisp and true.
The crowds retreat, the echoes fade,
And shadows deepen in the glade.
Port Angeles slows its hurried pace,
A quiet calm fills every space.
The streets grow still, the docks turn bare,
As winter’s chill hangs in the air.
The city sleeps beneath the grey,
Its heart still beats, but tucked away.
It dreams of spring, of life reborn,
Of bustling summers yet to adorn.
And so it waits, the tides in tune,
Through winter’s hush and silver moon.
A patient pause, a resting grace,
For the return of a lively place.
Port Angeles, both wild and wise,
You hold the seasons in your skies.
A haven bright, a quiet shore,
Awaiting spring to bloom once more.
When the Crowds Drift Away came from my own experience of watching Port Angeles change with the seasons. In the summer, the town feels so alive—there’s energy everywhere, with busy streets, laughter, and the harbor full of life as visitors come and go. But when fall arrives and winter settles in, everything slows down. The crowds leave, the docks grow quiet, and the town almost feels like it’s taking a deep breath, resting for what’s ahead.
I wanted the poem to reflect that shift—the calm and stillness of the off-season, when the town feels different but no less beautiful. It’s a quiet time, almost like hibernation, as we wait for spring to bring it all back to life again. It’s something I’ve always loved about Port Angeles, how the seasons shape its rhythm and its spirit.
