ON THE LAST DAY OF APRIL

Photo by S. Auberle

On the last day of April, the forest is filled with a fragrance of wild leeks.  A crow calls, a plane drones low over the island.  On the wind you can hear ongoing chatter of a rookery out on the Little Sisters.  After four days of rain, the sun is warm on our faces.  There is a plaintive conversation drifting down from gulls so high in the blue air we can see only specks.  A fly buzzes by, the first of the year.  We watch a flock of cormorants flying low, and a couple--arm in arm--walking down the trail.  You ask if I remember an evening here, last November.  It was sunset, and the first snows had not yet fallen.  The setting sun turned the whole world orange, and we felt so lucky.  Now we'll go home and cook eggs, serve them on blue and white Japanese plates, sprinkle wild leeks over them.  We'll have a glass of Malbec with some good bread, and think again how lucky we are.  Later, under the waning moon, we'll listen for coyote songs, and in the morning, we hope, begin this beautiful life all over again.