We slipped over the morning in thawed mud, over cracking
melts of ice, relieved to wrap up in our lightest wools today
instead of this winter's storm parkas. Joys raced these not-quite pups
from one patch of field to another—tripping, tasting every resurrected
tennis ball. New friends joined, sprung like seedlings from the dark.
Perhaps they had shrugged off old summer memories as dreams,
like those that twitched their legs in the dark. This blessing of light
is enough to remind them, remind us. Now they splay out together,
napping before the bright south window on a blanket where they've
transferred most of their mud, cuddled in peace and new promises.
Laura Lovic-Lindsay hunts and skins words to make them into stews and winter-wraps. Send beeswax. We're running out of candles over here and it's been hella arctic.