This poem sum up my dog walks in the fall perfectly. Lovely.
Patrick Lichfield, 1964.
My Dog Is Named for Elizabeth Bishop
October. The first pricks of cold air in
the city morning. We walk, Liz and I,
up then down in the same uneven line.
Her ears as sharp as sharpened pencils,
she pulls me along her wayward travels.
She darts out headlong, paces ahead,
coming and going and leaving again,
the way shadows seem to meet the tops of heads,
dissolve and are newly elongated.
We like the early, early morning best.
Our view is, thankfully, how we left it.
Nothing has stirred yet, the news lies unread.
Except for the weather, it’s all so still,
and no one is walking out of our world.
. . . . . . . . .
Appropriate dog-walking poem for the season! I love how it captures that silent peace of walking your dog in the morning. I also love…
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