A string of paths criss-cross the winter meadow-
tracks of fox and deer
prove the passage of time under the moon.
But this morning,
it’s the small dog and me,
up at dawn,
moving quietly on our morning walk.
I woke from a dream of you,
the smell of hot asphalt
and stale truck stop coffee lingered
as did the sound of your voice,
laced with gravel and cigarettes,
and the twinkle in your blue eyes,
set in the well lined map,
of roads traveled in your long life.
Hurrying toward home,
the small dog and I,
walk up the rocky lane.
The smell of hot coffee greets us
at the end of the road.
*** Twelve Days of Angels, Day Two
Just discovered your angel series. Very enjoyable! Perhaps a theme for another of your little books! Jane
I love the movement of this between nature and human–perfect for “criss-cross” roads. I especially liked “tracks of fox and deer
prove the passage of time under the moon.”
Thank you, Jennifer. One of those ‘lived’ poems that arrived pretty much intact from where ever poems perch. I have been remiss in commenting on your latest work, but I must tell you how much I am enjoying each poem. I find we have very similar sensibilities – it is always wonderful to find your new poems in my email. Thanks again for dropping by and your kind comment – wishing you all things merry. 🙂
Thank you for these sweet words. I agree about the sensibilities and return your merry wishes!
The pungent scent of memory, then the real life coffee awaiting – that is comfort……..
A sweet and poignant poem. It makes me think of my family of friends I left behind in California….