the air is different
it's coming off the hills
not the sea
the valleys around here
are unlike those back home
I anticipate a blanket
the May fog
it gets trapped at the ridge
fills me with a child's awe
as it did two years ago
I wonder what's in store

the streets are old
with modern cars
pulling up
at antiques shops
I'm looking for the old man
shining spoons
whistling blues
it opens at ten
I'll come back in while
like I did two years ago
I wonder if he'll smile