Category: Morning Meander

I walk the dogs and write raw poetry. Won’t you join me?

Snow dancing

Just the sweetest, fluffiest flakes
dancing on the wind
in gusts and gullies and tiny spinnings,
the air suddenly thick with them
dancing snows
and on the ground
dancing dogs
and how can I keep from spinning and dancing and laughing?

Door is open

To fresh air and sunshine,
the door is open.

Good dogs can wander as they please
— which is less satisfying, since that means that Mamaidh does not have to get up —
out to the mud, in to the water dish, out to the sunshine.

Dog fur smells of both snow and sun!

To My Best Little Buddy

You are the sweetest.

My Sgiobalta,
Of all the dogs of my life, you are the sweetest.

You cuddle,
you kiss my tears,
You bargain with me for treats,
You take me for walks and make dog snow angels.

Of all the dogs of my life, you are the sweetest.
You take yourself for a swim when you feel like it, just quietly paddling.
Sometimes I even call you Winter because you have generously welcomed that dog’s spirit to ride along with you.

I love you, Sgiobalta. Happy birthday.
I am grateful for everything that led to you being here, now.
Keep reminding me, Sweet Girl,
and may your days be good, and long on this earth.

Melting snow has revealed

Two bouncy balls!
I throw them,
blue with my right hand, orange with my left,
and good dogs give chase.

Max catches the blue one, he is faster,
then he drops it when the orange one comes close and fetches that one.

Sgiob happily fetches the blue one.

Until the time that both balls went tumbling down the meadow-hill and somehow only the blue one has come back.

I am picturing a very curious chipmunk — there’s a woods at the bottom of the meadow — or even a coyote some twilight who sniffs it and sees it and knows that it is a toy.

March walkies

The top layer in a thin bit of crunchy crystals which make a very pleasing sound and are not bonded together into glare ice, which is good because my shoes can get a grip on it.

The layer beneath is the remains of an ice storm which melted the next day in the sun and bonded together into a thick crust which breaks into shards.

Below the crust is about a cubit of old, old fluff, which means air pockets of all sizes. When it first fell, it was the fluffy deep stuff that one could wade through to break a trail.

So I can mostly crunch along on the top layer and the crust holds me up, but about every fifty steps I break through and that one leg drops down to the knee and I fall with bare hands (because it’s a sunny day and I am not cold) onto the cold crystals and broken shards of crust.

I got back up without fuss each time, which is better than I could have done a couple of months ago.

Tuesday, your metaphor is showing.

Antares

There you are
with the clouds finally peeled away.

Scorpion’s heart, you sound like a villain,
you look all red and pulsing,

But somehow I don’t believe it.

I believe that you are a friendly star, just there,
just so,
as a skymark so I can learn my way.

Antares in the morning sky.
Almost March.

Tsssssshhh

Today’s snow is tiny, tiny crystals of diamond ice which whisper and touch as they fall on the previously-fallen snow and on each other. The whole night is full of them and I want it to go on and on and I want the night to hang on for a few more hours —

It is lovely.

A dream journal

is absolutely the right tool for the job — I dream so rarely that I know of, the practice of observing anything at all will help —
and all I have written so far is “I don’t remember any images or actions, but there was a pervading sense of peace”
over and over for days

Which is lovely, of course.

Is it true?
When I’m home safe and asleep in my bed, do I dream about being home safe and asleep in my bed?