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a lucky reservation for one night of lodging and a late dinner — made by telephone months earlier, but just barely early enough,

choosing sweaters to wear to dinner as the June Sun
finally sets / you and i match in black cotton ramie, always and still, my favorite

hungrily watching the clock, in the Great Room, nestled in the same chair by the colossal fireplace

we’d been camping the previous night, in a thunderstorm and downpour at Bridge Bay,
where we awoke to a bison’s grunting, and their immense shadow upon our tent;
we shared our griddled french toast breakfast and percolated coffee with a couple in a VW camper, who were no doubt younger than you are today in June, 2024

with our “Wildlife of Yellowstone” booklet, we identify an osprey perched above our heads in a pine tree as we pack up our camp — a first, for each of us

mudpots, fumaroles, bison herds, bison “jams”, pelicans, waterfalls, canyons, elk, towering basalt columns, sulfur, a wild river, geysers, marmots, hot springs — and Morning Glory Pool.

so many firsts, for me and you.

your shining, smiling face[s]
around that table
by candlelight

what a gift, what a day, what a dream
to share this exquisite meal with you, two,
in such a truly wild place

is this real life?

the clink of silverware
voices and laughter centered — and from every direction,

imply, “yes”.

Continue reading “sonlight [june 2004]” →