After your arrival today, the boats
will race down the spit, as before.
Slightly up north, in Mendocino, the redwoods will keep
reaching for the sky, half-soaked in fog.
Further up north, in a Portland backyard,
the hummingbird will dart from the roses –
destined to bloom and re-bloom well past Labor Day –
to the english lavender; from the azure russian sage,
to the red crocosmia and back again.
Now that you are here,
the air seems little more saltier,
the boats seem to have little more pep,
the trees a tad bit greener,
the hues of the flowers, more vibrant,
and their nectar little more sweeter.
An occasional poem on the arrival of friend’s little bundle of joy. Inspiration from Billy Collin’s poem – As Usual.