I was away for three days on Monhegan, spent a night at home, then drove to Massachusetts the next day for an overnight in Marblehead (and an evening at Fenway) with my sister and her family. So when I pulled into the driveway this afternoon, stepped out of my car, and heard the familiar warbling song of the neighborhood red-eyed vireo, I felt a reassuring sense of home-coming. There he is, where he's supposed to be, singing the song I'll probably hear all summer long. And I too am thus welcomed back to where I'm supposed to be.

He sings of mown lawns,
irises blooming, foggy
mornings: vireo.