Abigail, today the park lawn
is a meadow of dandelion seed
and English starlings. An African
in eye-whacking tennis whites
teaches a young American how
to swing her racket. His voice
sings in this hot day. A piercing
call and from my shadow an osprey
shadow glides -- two young ones,
learning, turning in the blue
air. The mallard couple, he
with his glossy green cap,
she rather matronly, stick
their heads in the water,
tails straight up. How not-
British it is here, without
you. A man paddles past
in a red kayak. Your sweet-
heart longs for you, the children
ask, my dog watches eagerly
then droops in disappointment
as a woman in a dazzling scarf
comes near enough to know
it is not you. Abigail, this beauty,
this heat, these creatures, this
Montana summer -- we send it
all to you on this, your English
birthday. Let it be today's
bright and cheering tunic.
For Abigail
beautiful! You really did send some Montana to Abigail.
Posted by: niki | 27 May 2006 at 02:54 PM