dogtrax

First snow; the first flakes falling a slow somersault, tumbling to the earth

Nature wears a mask - a truth beneath the beauty: Everything decays

Finger rubs off ink, the words of the newspaper fading, forgotten

In the fireplace, wood crackles in snappy time; the heat of the beat

A wind dance romance; each branch leaves its love to chance, and wild circumstance

for Algot

Not rutabaga - but rooted, with bright white flesh and greens: the turnip

Dawn, on a clear day, breaks so gentle, unfolding in iridescence

Boreas howling, as if a tempest – a rush of mythical wind

We wait beneath dusk for moon rise – a slow turning toward heavenly eyes

Their sticky fingers find each other, covered in pine sap and needles