Not a dog

things I noticed

A drawn out, high-pitched wail, ringing in the morning. Metal on metal? A dog in great distress? It sounds first like one, then the other. Sight of garbage trucks up the street, rumble of bins, again the wail and this time a distinctly mechanical edge. Not a dog, then.

Heron in the morning, ungainly grace. The weight of him hangs heavy from cupped wings.

By the brook, bunched buds, and what purple! Violet the velvet of bishops’ robes, of blueberries smeared across a suntanned cheek. To flower? Soon. Come this way in a day or a week, to see.

From needing an answer now, at all costs, to following my own distant interests, I watched my wants turn about overnight.

Desire tied to unknowing. Assure me, and the kick fails.

Leave a Reply

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

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

Facebook photo

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

Connecting to %s