Ageless in the Woods

Amid the inclement weather.

There is almost always…great sacrifice with pride.

A demeanor to life where the individual does not hide.

Infinity does not stop for raging rivers to quietly…set aside indifference.

Complacency matures too much, much, more than a scarred flaw.

Fatality awaits the tree that does not bend.

And, mysterious, mischievous, onlookers do not have a sympathetic ear to lend.

Approaching the Storm

The scent of an approaching snowstorm hangs in the air.

Like the smell of fresh laundry hung on the line.

A breeze is suspicious and foreboding.

And, within one momentary breath, townspeople, will dart hazardous-ly about…

With no true concept of time.spring storm 1

the Written Gun

Nothing more colorful than, a gray flannel day.

Blistering winds with more shine than a lucky penny.

A spring Nor’easter.

A gathering of the personal army.

Crossing drawn lines in soiled, slush.

Gathering all visionary perseverance into a tight bun.

The loose ends of the earth our mine to own…

Under the written gun.

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Message in a Snowstorm

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Message in a snowstorm:

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If my love could not walk to you…It would crawl.  So, long the blizzard, which has encompassed my soul.  No need to rhyme now.  My longing for you has its rights, in which to grow old.

This morn, watching the puppy rummage in places he should not be.  Though the hillside laden in ivory.  I had seen things it has taken a lifetime to see.

Within the snow-globe that is our way of life; a once wounded bird.  No longer confined to a conforming flight.  A sheltered friend that does not wince upon movements that beyond slight.xtra-bogie

It is human nature.  In particular, beings taken to glass slippers with cracked heels.  To outwardly give, more than they feel.  I would reckon; the disposable perceptions…by nature, a sign of the times.  Strays prodding along.  Neither unkind or kind.

Long winded, as I always tend to be,  let me pin point with flakes of white, before consciousness burden my encouragement.  Making my intentions…less free.

You had told me the other day

…if I knew the words to comfort, I’d give them to you…

It took hours, days, seconds, to uproot the truth.  There in the snow.  Like a pumpkin cast out by the change of season.  I, and the dog, heeded your tenure of reason.

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Summer, along with all the ripples.

Fall, among leaf falling, abstract and simple.

Spring, a change for the natural congregations.

Winter, when trauma sets in.

Adorns its station.

I have been guided to cherish beyond infatuation.

Slack of foot.  The Nor’easter left us no choice but to head home.  Like sorrowful dogs without a bone.  Nothing of remorse came our way.  Just a thoughtful reflection of love for just one day.

 

Dog Collar Walker

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Deliberations of Sunday life in a Northern town.

Windows down…

zero below…

daily snow.

Nor’easter pressed against the frigid meditative steps.

Cynicism has not got the best of me yet!

For I am the foolhardy dog walker.

Bundled up in commonality.

Respect, honor, frivolity.

Creaky, paper stretched, thin skin.

And, of course…

coarse padded paws.

Unadulterated landscapes,

takes the breath away.

Yet, I feel…not at odds.

Taut bone,

stone cold.

Life should always be this bold.

Fine tuned by the elements.

I am just a…

dog collar walker on any given, everyday Sunday.

With Mother Nature’s blessing,

I will be back out again…

come Monday!