oh six thirty eight

the street lamps turn themselves off

dog gives a long sigh

the week begins slow

and quiet and soft except

a clock counting time

the sky a flat grey

few lights no sound of traffic

a distant dove calls

could there ever be

a day less fine than today?

a daily mantra

morning mist lingers

between close trees, distant hills

bird song and traffic

On the common path

shared tales of dogs now parted

and those at our sides