dogtrax

Keep low to the ground, Junco; refuse to be found - be the mystery

We cup our fingers to hold the moon tight, its light shimmers inside us

On a cold, cold night, we huddle near the fire; stories as kindling

Such tiny packets dipped in hot water, steeped and set for comfort

Coffee mug tremors with soft wisps of steam; we dream in deep November

for Algot

An abandoned lawn dons its winter coat of leaves and small broken sticks

At the water's edge - withered reeds, water lilies - not a frog in sight

A small light flickers in rhythm in the distance, and we stand together to watch it glow, wondering on the soundtrack

Noticing a leaf, yellowing, among others scattered on the ground

Ice inkers at night leave traces everywhere; tiny frost sculptures