Today, I watch the dogs frolic.
As though, the mossy plot were brand new and clean.
As though, the earth below them were all it seemed.
The elements recall it, a morn to a new day.
With piney cones gathered in moss.
And, fields asunder, haled and dressed.
With hunter’s revoked.
And, the moving wild…all about.
Unlike any other.
It is the first moment.
Of its kind.
And, though, dew has succumb to frost.
And, the day’s journey still renewed.
Still I will not get lost.