This morning we must share what meager dawn the porchlights punch through fog. We are cold and early, cold and early. Within our layered cower, waterproof and wools, yet we are out here, walking. Walking and wanting and walking.
BlueMan so far...My glass grinder died yesterday. RIP, my little grinder, you served me well. I ordered a new one, a bigger one! It’s coming in on Wednesday...and we wait.
The wolf-white moon
scrambles up the hills we've
hidden behind, within the hemlocks
to complain
of very little,
but to howl into the brittle,
pre-dawn autumn just the same.