(for Deb, my riverside walking buddy)

Though the river has shrunk to
a slender fall ribbon,
exposing a narrow band
in the center of the channel
populated with trees going about
the business of shedding,

we walk the sandy trail
looking for the telltale splash
of sea lions who swim upriver to make
their home, however temporarily,
in these fish-rich waters.

Sure enough, in a spot where children
on a walk pause with two smiling adults
to watch the show, we stop, too,
riveted by the sight of a big guy in the water
flopping at the surface, not unlike a big fish,
though whether catching or playing
we cannot tell.

And when he swims upriver,
we follow on the parallel path,
eager to catch glimpses of his
big head, his slick back, gleaming
under the morning’s sun.

For no matter how many times
we witness these little miracles
of one who has migrated far from home,
to waters unaccustomed to his kind,

we applaud the presence of this
fellow, quite oblivious to the way
his presence has delighted us,
reminding us to pause, look
and inhale the glorious
in the everyday.