In the beginning was the Word, and the word was a Fort,

a peninsula, open to the sea.

Pilgrims seeking vistas and space

scale battlements, walk gunnery lines,

marvel at the madrona, her red skins shining.

We climb steps for inlet and strait, 

whitecaps, a lighthouse on the point. 

Wandering trails.

Reading verses in the vault.

Looking west to spy a mountain range

we didn’t know was there. 

In a place designed for war

we find peace.