========================================== return to TOC for issue: Fall '08
We go for a walk, the dog and I.
I scrunch through dry leaves and old gravel.
She is silent on pads, stepping lightly.
She pounces,
the smell-earth-warmth
the tremor of prey.
The sun sparkles on the river,
glistening
glitter on grey silk.
The blonde wood of a wind-torn sycamore
points to the sky:
blue, endless ethereal blue.
The wind moves the trunks
screek…screek:
old doors swinging in old hinges.
Crows fly by
caw…caw…caw,
harbingers of nonsense
I need to listen anyway.
The bluebells’ leaves thrust up,
purple-edged green, hints of buds
tucked down deep, waiting for a warmer day.
