winter sprint

Squirrels on the run, coon treed, dogs in motion, cold seeping everywhere, everywhere, humpty-dumpty moon waves her white flag as she slides suddenly back behind the hill.

January rhythms, winter alive. I’d like to film it. Squirrels run across the top of the wall, their shadows run down the side of the wall. Sun skates across the sky at top speed in his chariot sleigh.

Rock festooned with ice in the middle of the moving stream. She’s pretty and she likes her skirts, laughing out loud in the cold stream. Brown leaves of fall party around her, aged confetti.

I have something to say, I have a thousand things to say, but consciousness seems too sluggish. Leave the turtle to his mud bed in the midst of all this action.