A Winter's Morning

Early morning yawns rattle my jaws.
It is snowing, great puffy flakes
that I blow off the car,
soft and clean like a movie scene.
The sky is grey, pale salmon, powder blue.
The ocean roars, audible from a mile away in its storm addled fury.

The dog is still asleep when I get to her house.
A talker, she keens, sings, howls her greeting,
Stretches with a deep chested groan.

Our path is a dirt lane lined with straight pines
The fresh snow blanketing it sparkles dully
reminiscent of fish scales,
Or fallen stars...
I wonder if each flake is a wish,
if each footprint is a lifetime of broken dreams,
If an unseen force above is preparing seafood for breakfast.

The dog finds the tracks of wild things,
and stuffs her muzzle into each one
snuffling its story deep.

Motes of snow twinkle in the sun
framed by the trees.
I breath deep of the cold still air
and thank the world for its gifts to me.
Small things, like ten toes, strong limbs,
Wide eyes to regard natural beauty with childlike wonder.

The dog stops to stand stock still
gazing intently down the forested slope,
she sees or smells something I don't.