dogtrax

Red, after yellow, after green; the chlorophyll sleeps in cold weather

Etchings in the frost; Some mysterious scribbling of stories on glass

Wandering through fields shoulder high and still stretching; the rain feeds the grain

Some travel afar, making plans for gathering beneath Hunter's Moon

At ocean's high tide, we wander close to the line where sand disappears

Laughter is what comes after the strange connection between tone and words

Noticing darkness falling earlier each day; Autumn's arrival

for Algot

Here, beneath the eaves, safe from the threat of rainstorm, we find some respite

The fishing rod sings with energy and movement; it's all it and I

The small apple's skin - dappled in sunlight and wind - tastes a bit like time