It is an hour after sunrise, the world
still damp from an overnight rain.
A cold front moved through
The air, now washed and
optimistic with good ions,
Flows down from the
mountain over there, cool and dry.
The maple leaves flutter
and let me know it’s coming.
One of the robin chicks that
hatched three weeks ago in the lilac
Hunts for bugs under the ferns,
stops and aims a bright eye at me.
We say hello, in our way. He registers
me as someone he knows.
I sip my coffee, nod,
Wishing him silent luck with the hunt.