I walk the dogs and write raw poetry. Won’t you join me?
The horizon of bare branches seem two-dimensional, some invention of ink on dawn-washed construction paper
Yet the pines, further back, are clearly further back because they veil themselves in mist.
There are days when one must woof right out of the starting gate just in case. This is one of those days.
Sharing the journey.
It’s nice to walk in company,
Whether we chatter or speak of weighty things or make one another laugh
Or hold companionable silence.
It’s nice to walk alone as well,
But so much better to walk this meandering, surprising, turning path with dogs.
With them all things are adventures,
With them all things are about now and love and discovery.
Thank you, good doggers.
Now the trees look stark.
The snow is not new and lovely,
and it has left the trees’ limbs.
Now it is November, and I reach for sweaters.
A Mahamaidh, do not be ridiculous! It is DOG TIME!
It is always DOG TIME!
And that means it is always good.
I stand corrected. It is DOG TIME!
Every name, my siblings.
I will remember every name.
Good morning, house.
Good morning, dogs.
Good morning, coffee.
(Good morning, frogs??)
Not quite, but it’s good to be home.
The comet has flown in for a visit, trailing a wonderful co-comet.
Dogs are fed and have almost enough cuddling.
Sun’s up.
Adventure awaits!
The trees are frosted!
The grasses are frosted!
Sgiob has made snow angels, and all is right with the world.
It seems like freezing rain on top of this small snow.
I don’t know a freezing rain from a rain and freeze, but it’s tiny ice when it hits my face and water a quarter-second later, so let’s just say that I’m grateful not to be driving for a while.
The sand truck drove by when the dogs and I were out, lights flashing.
There’s a morning train at about five, and it’s over in Vermont, but we can feel it here rumbling the valley. I only notice it if I’m awake.
The soccer ball’s air has expanded so that it’s no longer easy to pick up; they were happy to chase nubby ball but had no interest in it once it held still.
Herded into place, I suppose.
Good morning, grey and lovely November.
Thank you.
We try every day to deserve you – to vote, to volunteer, to help a neighbor, to speak up, to speak truth, to choose.
Sweet, deep, peaceful sleep
Apparently I was tired.
How has this culture so taught us not to know our bodies’ own sensations
that we eat on a schedule or a whim
and sleep as though it is an interruption
and are oblivious to danger
and are practical about love.
Mama Bear shakes her head in wonderment.
Eat salmon,
Eat blueberries,
Drink stream,
Sleep.
It’s coming apart in a very genteel way.
I’m happy.
I’m having a good life.
But I see the signs.
November, my old challenge…
Let’s begin again.
I am grateful for sunrise.
I am grateful for warm dogs.
I am grateful for this warm and cozy home.
I am grateful for extraordinary children.
I am grateful for my sweet, sweet loved one.
I gave myself homework,
To write out three different pieces of poetry which speak to me,
and to try to read them aloud to myself.
Naturally, this project took me to the Oxford English Dictionary.
desideratum, n.
“desideratum, n.” OED Online, Oxford University Press, September 2019, www.oed.com/view/Entry/50832. Accessed 6 November 2019.
Forms: Plural desiderata.
Something for which a desire or longing is felt; something wanting and required or desired.
Words save my soul.
Remember, remember.