Reading the poem, three times, made me cry; it felt so close to home. My husband and I were always pointing out the beauty that we were seeing, often quietly with gestures, or bringing back photos. He died suddenly one month ago today. Here is part of a poem I wrote 3 days after he died after my morning walk along the sea cliff:

Look, Dana, the waves are getting higher as winter approaches

The geese are flying

The monarchs are coming back to Lighthouse Field

Look, Dana, an otter is slapping the water in the sparkling sunlight of morning.

But you can't hear me. Can you hear me?