I grumble when I rise
in this new routine I find
of having to leash the dogs
and head outside.
No more opening doors
having always been free to explore
and do their business
without any help of mine.
So on the leashes go
before the coffee brews
and out into the narrow streets
now home.
Smoke from chimneys hovers low
the smell of it
lifts spirits below
while pleasant thoughts soon rise
with the early sun.
And on we wend
through the aged, shadowed alleys
past tiny cars and crumbling walls
by well-fed, feral cats and barking dogs
who hear our jingly approach
and let it be known to all.
Life behind the shutters
has begun to stir
and the sounds of life within
all heard
dissuade me from feeling too alone
while my husband wraps things up
where once was home.
Passing walls of gathered stone
and garden patches in verdant rows
the dogs seek out every, single smell
while continually adding their own.
Happy to be lost in the ancient grid
of unworked fields and olive trees
of derelict lots
and well-tended hearths
I have little worry
of my place on earth
and finding our way back
to anticipated treats
to coffee
and to home.
Dog-eared Stories 