dogtrax

New blossoms in bloom; slumbering trees awaken in Spring's morning light

for Algot

The country road twists like an angry cat's tail, all hissing like that - you know the mood — and she and I are bent over the car glass window, staring at the altitude; there's no turnaround or back-em-ups or do-overs up here - just keep the car goin', hopin' you find the trail head before night takes over

for #VerseLove

Smoked Paprika huddles in the cabinet corner, in a small tin, barely cracked; the sight sparks memory of rich stew cooked over a Dutch Oven all day by One who always loved you

for #VerseLove

An old battered clarinet from the dump heap of discards sits broken with possibilities

Mangled springs, rotted pads, and twisted keys; yet, something there still sings

A new turn remakes a thing, anew, but always, it requires deft hands and an understanding of song

for #VerseLove

Near the bridge, where the building doubles in reflection on the running water; our eyes doing a double-take

We're noticing the horizontal line where the real and the imagined connect near the bridge, where the building doubles

She leans over the wall's edge, to reach in for ripples, and I am there, beside her, in reflection on the running water

And above us, a heron flies, its shadow a specter on the surface of water, our eyes doing a double-take

for #VerseLove

The envelope, sealed, sits waiting on the counter, until the last day

for #VerseLove

Just A Ghost Of A Game

Every so often I think I hear the sound of a Whiffle ball on bat – imagine that – there's nothing there — only the faint memory of a run-down, rutted path the boys had built on the backyard grass, but even the trail of those tracks have disappeared - just a ghost of a game from over the years – so that now my wife and I are the only ones left in the stands with a wide window view bearing witness at the state of play — standing in the kitchen, remembering those days — years away from the excited cries of a home run hit with a blast, the whistling ball set sailing over the wooden fence into our next-door neighbor's yard, sneakers falling off darting feet - like a banana-peel cartoon reel - as they race on with a quickened beat: sliding, diving, arriving at home - our hound dog watching the whole show with a chewed-up ticket-stub rawhide bone

video version: https://youtu.be/_EpFduj0JQQ

Four small Cardinals dancing in half-time, inside the empty Ash tree

for #ds106

Four red Cardinals dancing in half-time, inside the empty Ash tree

for #ds106

These woods we know so well seem empty as we walk. I let her off the leash and now she is the lead, and I am the follower. I sense the river, swollen now with the early Spring rains and late Winter melt. She looks back, constantly, to make sure I am with her, and I am, with her, moving forward, noticing but never seeing the orchestra tumbling towards some distant sea.

A river roars through, out of eyesight but still, there, a voice, shouting: time

for #VerseLove