99poems/scotties

MORNING FOG

The morning fog
re-shapes Mt. Israel,
obscuring the helicopter
I hear overhead.
Rain is imminent.
I move pots
out from under
the eaves of the house
so they’ll get wet,
and hurry to walk.

The scotty dogs I pass
are less concerned
about the weather,
one of them balking
at the idea of return.
“He only likes to walk
away from the truck,”
the owner confesses.
Yes, I agree, forward
motion is always best,
new ground out in front,
the possibility, at least,
of adventure.

But I loop back
time and again,
picking up
the dropped stitches,
retracing the neglected
paths,
always trying
to re-find,
remember.

2/9/99