Here in our library
I've spent a quiet hour
with a painting
by my wife's brother-in-law
former that is
almost a seascape
though the ocean's hardly there
only a narrow line of grey
on the horizon

In the foreground
there's a field of winter grasses
yellow stalks
all stiff and fading into brown
while on the hilltop
a lone cypress
scraggly, windblown
has lost its crown
there's beauty
and also a sense of desolation

Slowly the hill descends
to dull brown fields
that stretch away
until they reach the pale
blue waters of
a tidal pond that lies
this side an unseen
spit of sand

Above the dark line of the sea
a band of white and
over that the sky's soft greys
set off the water's washed out blue

This is a place I've also been
the headlands of Point Reyes
where my wife
and her first husband
lived as young newlyweds
close on fifty years ago

For me it's strange
how much this scene reminds me
of the fields and the up-island
tidal ponds on Martha's Vineyard
where as a boy I spent so many
wild and happy summers

Taking in the painted landscape
I feel a rush of tenderness
both for that boy and also
for my wife and her young husband
thinking of their time
on Point Reyes
the feelings come on strong
a mix of gratitude
and wistfulness
sadness and happiness running together
like watercolors blurring
along the edges