walking the dog

without my camera

I’m not equipped to catch

the milky blue

in both leaf and distant puddle

the naked pink glow

of the gums’ undressing

the way the mountains

breathe so wetly green

and the small clouds hover

a child’s picture


I focus on other senses

two small pigeons

barking softly

like puppies

(even the dog turns his head)

the call of a whip bird

such stunning beads

that hang in air

without a string

the way yesterday’s shadows

follow me all the way

to the top of the hill

and then strangely disappear

my brow at last awake

to the rinsed world

and wishing I had three more hours

to be bathed in it


in the last two hundred metres

the smell of toast seeps

through the hanging air

the damp flanelette drift

of mizzle and cloud

and here i am at the stone steps

beside the flailing rose again

with my smile…

somehow it’s a circle

where the ends don’t meet

8 thoughts on “walking the dog

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