dogtrax

A quiet Violet, rarely announcing itself, at the woodland edge

On a pilgrimage to a mecca of music: that New Orleans sound

It begins, within - a fracturing, spreading quick, the thin ice of thoughts

A friend, reaching out, like mycorrhizal networks; supporting, unseen

Each added second - the sprint from Winter Solstice - a slow thaw, unfolds

With each flake, fallen, winter leaves its calling card in the dust of night

for Algo

A thought is a seed, planted to become something surprisingly new

Wrapped out of a coil with a flared shout, the French Horn curves into its sound

One string, hummed and strung; the resin of horsehair bow - like a feather, sings

Drops of rainwater, and drizzle; the kind that fall on outstretched tongue