Out Walking

OUT WALKING   We are walking, my caddle of cairns, you and I in the well field park, me to escape the spoil and tarnish of a life once light gone dark. You are excited to walk the wild wood, scrub oak, myrtle, palmetto flatland shivering with joyful likelihood at the rustling of nature’s band. We glimpse the armadillo scurrying, the jay busily gathering for the nest; grey and brown...
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The Perfect Spot

The Perfect Spot   So many mornings, dog and I, out in the cold and dew, Me, longing for a warm bed or hot tea pot, yet here I am, out again. So, I ask you, What constitutes the perfect spot.   For miles, you sniff each dewy grass blade, each tree, each shrub, each and every dirt clop, all rejected, none will do. I ask, nerves frayed, What constitutes the perfect spot?   Yet, bent to avoid shame...
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