Dog onna Bog pt II

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.