It was an early Sunday morning, cold and windy. The wind burst across the tree tops and rolled down the old mountain on to us. The dogs pointed their noses into the wind, smelling for a scent. It had rained last week and the trail was muddy in the low spots. Brown and red leaves cover the loose rocks.
Her dresses change -
all are meant to
catch your eye
Two dogs, one in his prime and the other in her decline. She still races up the mountain, leading, playing, I walk behind. The wind blows my hat off when we reach the top. We snap a few photos.
photos remain
when memories
fail
The once powerful matriarch of her pack trails behind me on the way down. Coughing, I help her into the car and we drive home.
rocks, trees, wind -
I drink coffee;
dog on my lap
