Whispers on the Water
The old dock stands on weathered beams,
Bathed in gold where silence gleams.
A lantern’s glow upon the deep,
Where tides and echoes softly sleep.
Reflections stretch, a trembling light,
Drifting slow through velvet night.
A whisper hums in wooden bones,
The creak of time in hollow tones.
The ferry’s glow, a distant spark,
Scattering stars upon the dark.
And in the hush, the water sighs,
Carrying secrets to the skies.
Beneath the planks, the current sways,
A song of all the passing days.
And here, with lens and quiet breath,
We frame the night, defying death.
There’s something about the harbor at night that always draws me in—the way the water turns into a mirror, stretching the lights into golden ribbons, the quiet hum of distant movement, the steady rhythm of the tide. On this particular evening, I was out with the Olympic Photo Club for our Thursday night photo walk, exploring the stillness and glow of Port Angeles after dark.
We had wandered behind the wharf, where the skeletal remains of the old dock stood tall against the water, its worn beams reflecting in the glassy surface below. A barge working near the Coho Ferry dock cast just enough light to breathe warmth into the scene, illuminating the pilings like sentinels standing watch. It was one of those moments where everything aligned—the atmosphere, the composition, the stillness of the water, and the story waiting to be told.
As I set up my shot, I found myself thinking about time, about how places like this hold memories in their bones. The dock, worn by salt and seasons, has likely stood through countless nights just like this one, watching the tide shift, the city lights flicker, and the occasional photographer come to capture its quiet resilience. The reflections danced on the water, shifting with the slightest ripple, a fleeting illusion of permanence.
Later, when I sat down to reflect on the image, the words of a poem formed in my mind—about whispers on the water, about light stretching into the dark, about the quiet stories that exist in places we often pass by without a second glance. That’s what I love about these photo walks. It’s not just about the technical aspects of photography, but about the experience—the way we pause, look closer, and see the world in a way we might have missed otherwise.
This night at the harbor was one of those moments, where light and time wove together into something that felt like a memory even as I was living it. And now, through the photo and the poem, that moment lingers just a little longer.
