Walk at turn of season

God, thank you for today’s walk
in the mess of new spring,
and the dog who slows me down
so I can smell it.

He quivers at the delicatessen
of melt-loosened detritus —
sticks and crumbling leaves,
several mittens, a peanut butter jar,
lost pacifier,
some chicken bones,

delectably decayed wild scat
and the unearthed transgressions
of usually responsible
dog walkers,
tempted by the boot-scuffing
anonymity of snow.

The beagle celebrates
veritable treasures of the seasons,

and I laugh
at laid bare —
my own un-raked memories,
objet trouvé art in my summer past,
several shitty shortcomings.

But, God, in the midst
there is a quarter-inch poking green
of tomorrow’s crocus,

and all around
your birds
make small and joyful noise.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Walk at turn of season

  1. rezrevres says:

    My wife and I had a very similar conversation yesterday walking our dogs, but as a prose-bound creature, it was nearly so poetic. Many thanks and blessings.

  2. Maren says:

    Honestly one of the dog’s deep sniffs is more poetic than a week of my Lenten reflections.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s