Morning Walk, Rock Hall
The purple martins mock us
as we stroll past their crowded house.
For once, the dogs ignore them,
intent on sharper smells closer to the ground --
frogs and bunnies, decapitated fish
abandoned by picky osprey. It's easy
to forget how alive the world is. This morning
I read that Iceland has written a love letter
to a lost glacier. Closer to home,
spring torrents have made mud where fields
once ripened with corn. For just an hour,
I would be as tunnel-nosed as my pups,
seeking out the scent-trails in front of me,
the hope of a filled bowl yet to be. Ambition
has ruined us. The dogs are content
to chase a handful of waddling ducks. A thousand
squawking fowl couldn't satisfy their desire to hunt,
could only confuse and terrify these two rescued,
damaged creatures. Desire of a certain kind
can break you. Make you hoard misery
until the chambers of your heart
silt in. Until your blood trickles
where it once flowed unconstrained. I want
the joy of a chase where the bird scolds me
for even trying, where I watch it soar, where I
laugh at how ponderous legs have disappointed me
again. The dogs herd me back to the house, mouths
soft,ears flapping, limbs gliding over the ground
with an ease I may never match. They forgive
my clumsy tugs on their leads, patient
and kind with all my human failings.
Awesome post.Thanks for sharing.This is so nice.
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