To My Son-in-Love

Forty Feet


Winter is your blanket

And the room

Of your birth.

All quietness stretching

Across the leafless orchard 

Masked the growth of

Stone fruit buds.


Spring busied itself,

Turning blossoms into


And tossing seeds

Your way.

With a land plot

As big as a dream,

You gobbled up seeds

With vast quantities of 

Curiosity and horse plow



And we find you today,

Nurturing your dreams,

Plowing your projects,

Collecting and trading


And keeping a sharp

Tool in hand,

Trimming and tending

Your trail,

Your journey.


Being forty is

A powerful year.

Lots of trout strength,

oceanic tenacity,

gypsy passion,

redwood patience

and eagle spirit.


You are on your way,

You smell, breathe and taste

The scent of your soul.

Now to continue your 

Heartfelt journey and

To share your kindred spirit

With your family and friends.


So we toast,

To our souls and

Our life stretching and 

commingling roots.