Over hill and dale
shadows
slash
bottle green bushes.
Bits of fur
matted and stained
flutter
in the brisk
morning air and
descend
in a grassy knoll
fragrant
with
lily of the valley
soaked
in
rosemary
and
thyme.
Training I laugh, looking back. The years speed up— Florida traffic when the snowbirds arrive. Red lights feel optional—unless you rememb...
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