by Barry Vitcov.
After last night’s storm
trudged through the valley
like a beggar looking for hope
I woke to clear skies and windblown debris
scattered remains of nature’s
strength and fragility
Emmy the poodle and I walked
up a rise where she could run
chase and retrieve a ball
while I looked over orange and green fields
fall’s crisp air on my cheeks
yields my ears icy and numb
Canada geese enjoying the morning
as much as we
Foggy mists hovering below
having risen from fertile fields
like translucent ghosts
the hosts of imagination
shape-shifting and transformative
beckoning
Emmy waits with
too much enthusiasm
always youthful and impatient
she has no use for spirits
just throw the ball
let her frolic
and leap with joy
in the morning sun