Relative Something

*this* John W. Hays' take on things and experiences


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open the door
step out into the predawn light
into the cold
into the calm, crisp, morning air
trod the well-worn path
upon the carpet of fallen leaves
trailing behind the dog
as she strains against the leash
in a frantic to-and-fro weave
tracking an invisible path
left by some nighttime prowler
passing beneath a large oak tree
that comes to life
at the start of a breeze
rustling the scattering of leaves
brown wrinkles of their former selves
that still hang in the branches
and will for the rest of the winter
suddenly begin to notice
the day is well under way



Written by johnwhays

December 12, 2020 at 10:37 am

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