dogtrax

A path winds its way through the grove of apple trees; bent branches, lost leaves

Run between the rain; the impossible dancing amid all the drops

She wakes up and sighs; the weather forecaster cries the news of the cold

for Algot and Leslie

Winter birds, scramble; searching for some sustenance twittering like mad

Lightning strikes, glimmer - the horizon's simmering possibilities

Sometimes, silence is skin, thin with ash and burnt flame rubbed in; the ink of art disappearing, again

inspired (somehow) by Wendy's poem https://wentalearn.blogspot.com/2026/01/art-in-ashes.html

An empty field filled with diamonds

sunshine ice glimmers at beautifully unusual angles -

I've lost my sunglasses so I squint just to remember

one winter night in December when I was only an edge of a child

watching moonlight become sunlight; that lost world now seems too wild

inspired by Steve's poem (with a line lift, too) https://sleepingdog.mataroa.blog/blog/the-age-of-sunlight/

Hope can be a horse, a wild gallop through the fields with wind at your back

Yellowing, with spots, the Quince sports names like Smyrna, Dwarf Orange, Perfume

Fill the Slow Cooker up with the ingredients of a white bean soup