A dog on a bog can reveal truth |
Dog onna Bog pt II We haunt the bog often Charlie D. Dog and I Today we ghosted through snow Beneath an ice-blue winter sky Charlie barrelled ahead stopping to stuff his snout into drifts rooting out the stories of cold scents laying waste to the peaceful expanse I trudged along behind sulking about snow creeping into my boots seeking the shallows to save my socks from further chilly intrusions A blue-grey pall of woodsmoke rose to mingle with the mist of sparkling motes that our steps stirred into flight The evocative scent of a New England winter filled our noses. It was the funeral pyre of an oak that had stood by the channel through long winters before this one, cruel, cracked the tree's thick heart to send it crashing. Wind gnarled, twisted, limbs shorn, it had been the focus of my pictures, the lone spot of interest in the visually barren bog. The men tending the bonfire commiserated with me on our mutual loss, they mourned the noble tree's shade in summer. Dried grasses thrust golden spears into the snow. One set of animal tracks broke into two raising the speculation "Was this one beast who wisely backtracked in his own prints? Or two trotting singlefile?" Life winds on through the killing snow. |