Flutter and song, some drink from the fountain
Gurgling, breeze and traffic as methodical as rain.
So clear and fresh a day, I look through the live oak out my window
Down to red tile, white stucco spread from west to east.
Later we drive up the mountain.
If you walk up this path, you can see the islands and the water, we are told
And so we do, and come upon them, or just the outline on the horizon.
The shadowed islands across the Channel
And the sea, far away and down below.
This night deserves a poem.
From Arroyo Burro beach with tar sand and cavorting dogs
We line the cliff-backed rocks
To watch the setting sun, a sudden dip of gold into the sea.
The twilit sky gives way as lighted by the moon the watchers leave
And beaches close (but do not sleep) till daylight comes.
But for the traffic, louder as the day unwarms,
The sounds of mourning doves, of finches and their friends, quiet until daylight when their songs anew begin.
The live oak silhouetted out my window as I write,
While city lights fill the breadth of sight beneath the hills of Santa Ynez
And the sea not so far just out of view.
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