Homecomings

Near the weir I watch white pelicans, fishers
far from home, as I have been.
Now, I walk from a building where once I was young
along a river, where once I was young, find statuary upon the dry green grasses, scent wild roses and the heat of this summer day in Saskatoon.

Near the weir I watch the water, rushing somewhere, anywhere east or west, running along rushes. A pelican dives; another soars above the river like any other wing-spanned bird you've watched. White on white water. Wingspan like mine has been, journeys. Till now, returning, the spot I left, still the same. Still not the same. The pathway curves around the river, paved for we walkers, for the cyclists on Sunday afternoon. Every day a gift comes to me from this place, where once I was young. It's still the Saskatoon wind which whispers at my greying hair/

this space fills me like years.
This is the beauty I sought.
I am the beauty I sought.