Floating World

Floating World

Seaside waders cruise among the old
pilings at Brackett's Landing,
blackish blue against a glitter-play of mud flats
licked by wavelets,
this slice of Edmonds's floating world worthy
of Hokusai or Hiroshige—
endless impressions
issued on paper in orange and indigo.

No Mt Fuji here but
to the west, the ragged Olympics—
looking north, Mt Baker—
south, Rainier
climbed years ago by our four sons
rappelling off a single rope,
tiny creatures scaling crags as huge as
the heart of the venture.

We linger here at sunset,
wait for the ferry to reach the pier, its legs creaky
like ours—
the café musters diners for salmon, the local brew,
some loganberry pie
as gulls scat and squawk over the
green umbrellas,

scenes framed by the old timbre of this place.