Route 242

We see eagles now and then this far north,
where salmon still run in the Snohomish
and rabbits are plentiful on islands
in the Sound. Still, when one of us cries Look!
we fold our papers, close our books, put down
our pens and turn as one to scan the treetops
for a flash of white and smudge of black.
We’re all on a field trip again, children
who point, jostle, and stand to lean against
windows fogged from the damp of our wet shoes.
Our bus moves on and we become adults,
the day ahead weighted with importance.
At home late tonight we’ll lie in our beds
and tell of the eagles we saw today.