Sunday, January 11, 2009

The Litany of Wintry Gamboling

A crevice of light in the sky.

The Slavic man shouting into his cell, outside his car, in the night, echoing.

Slush.

Our dog gamboling in drifts spindrift snow dolphin leaping.

Wet pavement black.

Leaps of faith that say, "This is this; exalt!"

The pebble in my hiking boot that turns out to be a grain of (rock) salt.

Biblical pillars of shoveled detritus.

Naked branches.

The missing chickadee.

Muzzle in the shards of crystalline alabaster.

January.

4 comments:

Patti said...

You are a brilliant writer.

It was good to hear from you today, PK.

Pawlie Kokonuts said...

Thanks, Patti. Likewise. Like, wise.

JR's Thumbprints said...

It's not the grain of rock salt that gets me, it's my socks bunching up at the bottom of my moon boots. I kind of lost touch with everybody. Been doing my thing--whatever that is.

Ralph said...

Could I wax so poetic...

Words, and Then Some

Too many fled Spillways mouths Oceans swill May flies Swamped Too many words Enough   Said it all Spoke too much Tongue tied Talons claws sy...