beginnings

(Giacomino - Very Old Dog - on the porch, yesterday at noon.)

in Just-
spring when the yard is brown-

green-scented the fragile Very Old Dog

piddles far and wee

and LindyandWilliam come
running from tugs and
dinosaur rahrs and it's
spring

when the yard is wormsquish-wonderful
the dear old

Very Old Dog snuffles

far and wee

and CharlieandMama come alloverwagging

from perfect sunny spots and

it's
spring
and
the

golden-aura'd
Very Old Dog gambols

far

and

wee

(humble apologies to e. e. cummings)

(Sammy and Very Old Dog - just 4 weeks from their 7th and 15th birthdays, in the yard yesterday)

I write of personal feelings.

Today we saw straightline winds driving rain perfectly perpendicular and heard loose things crashing and our windows rattled. The emergency alert (this is not a test) interrupted Prairie Home Companion; the nerve. And then we walked the dogs, not a half hour later, in clear blue skies, so warm that in short sleeves we glowed.

The malignant Bermuda grass is still brown, but the fescue, what's left of it, is Kelly green. Grass green. Daffodils opened up for the sun, and the not-really-tulips on the tulip trees. The new little birthday lilac bush sports a riot of brazen buds. It survived.

Beginnings.

From the ice storm, the wounded grand trees in their prime will die. Like a best friend whose very name has always made me smile. Who has malignant tumors in her brain, but still possesses her special grace, and dignity, courage and humor; I hear the oxygen whoosh on the phone. I have your smiling name in my heart when I go to sleep. When I wake.

Beginnings.

A tiny soul has arrived. In the usual way, thank you paul simon, but not. I didn't know he was en route until he was nearly here and now he is and I want to hold him and smell of him and fill his eyes with my face so he will know that I will love him like a gramma. And cry over him and fuss and fill my heart with his. His name is Brody.

Beginnings.

And Bill is away, so I float just out of reach, a deflating balloon's silly careening. Untethered. He'll come home to my telling him how much I love him. But the dogs and I did just fine.

Delia keeps a constant eye out for her Bill. One ear tuned to the street for the right car door to slam.

But she's an unconscionable liar who tells me she always was my dog.

Until she hears that car door slam.

most all of the time I write for you, dear readers. tonight I wrote for me, but you can still

hug your hounds