My toes surf the wet grass above the beach.
The wind brushes past my ears, my cheeks and temples.
Overhead the birds talk
With purpose.
They claim their territory, warn of predators,
Call for partners, guard their fledglings.
Checking, always checking.
Chirping, chirruping
To one another —
Where to fly, where to watch,
where to find fish this morning.
This one more morning
Of one more summer’s life.
The leaves on the quaking aspen (yes—that’s its name!)
Glitter in the breeze.
A chorus of pines at water’s edge stands tall to sing to the opposite shore.
The lonely cedar on the hill
bent by the past, leans east
toward that far shore.
Oh where are you?
Over the lake the gulls rise on the updrafts,
screech insistently to one another.
Har-eee, har-eee.
Here, here.
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