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Just a Day

Stream crossing, train whistle 
among the beech leaves rustling 
and a vulture swings down low over the boardwalk 
when the engine light barrels over the causeway 
and the geese lift over the dormant buds,
ashimmer in the water’s mild ripple, in the liquid 
where the deer bounding and the dog barking 
and the family laughing their way 
to the dusk gate closing, though none of us there 
were closed or will ever be as long as we remember 
what we saw or how it felt to us on that day, 
just a day, normal, 
a normal day.