The simplicity of a dog’s tail measuring more than temperature. How that tail remains alert until its owner unearths a treasure. A perfect ball – mushy, once yellow – perfect just the same. It’s Mojo’s treasure. The purity of finding bliss. Wind be damned. The grey sky an extemporaneous play with an early curtain call. How Mojo’s tail flies – a noble waving banner from the winning side. The captivating colors of victory unfurl. Mojo’s tail is happy as is he – by extension…
May you dream of finding singular happiness in the simple things…
Mojo’s pics snapped this blustery morning.
Red wolf (endangered) with a happy tail created last week with marker and pencil.
Tag Archives: wolves
2 new poems published in the Avocet
Turquoise Eyes
howling through the blackest part of night
damp nostrils inhales the moon
silver molding the shape of their song
turquoise eyes cry out for harmony
as voices peal across the earth
a universal language floating on the wind
beckoning to the deepest part of light
and to the humble sleeping spirit
of all living things
Fake Smells
behind these walls
annoying lights flicker
a singular flame
attempts escape
desk
tick tocks
tick tocks
white noise is suffocating
beneath night’s cape
foxes hunt
coyotes beckon
stars breathe
should go out and play
with the ‘rousing moonlight
where the autumn dogs
don’t give a damn
about work deadlines
or silly jar candles
laced with fake scents
Published in, ‘Avocet Magazine,’ a marvelous print journal paying homage to nature and its beauty
wolf created a few years ago using prisma pencil and dabs of acrylic
Hitchhikers Are Not Wolves
Dear Friends,
Though I’m done with subbing for the year, I drove my kids to school this morning. They generally ride the bus, unless they present a convincing plea. The delicate daughter has perfected the art of pleading. This morning’s plea began last night. She had the Chemistry Regents today and was concerned about AM cafeteria crowding…. The big son’s eighth-grade graduation was also today.
After the AM school drop off, I merrily made my way back home. I was thinking about what to wear for the “Recognition Ceremony” and was hoping I plucked everything in need of plucking. Not fully concentrating, I had to pull my giant vehicle left to avoid a gent walking roadside. If Nair and tweezers hadn’t been invented, we might be related. He was unkempt in appearance. He wore a cap which concealed his eyes. He was quite thin and his shoulders were slumped, but he held his fist erect. His thumb was up and my head was down. Why? Every time I pass a hitchhiker, I picture Stephen King. Then I think – this person is not a wolf…
I often brag how tough I am. My inner-tomboy would whomp anyone bringing discomfort to my loved ones. Why does the little girl in me say, ‘keep driving….’ when she sees a thumb up. I feel tremendous guilt passing hitchhikers by, but I continue to do so. Maybe if the times were different, maybe. Hitchhikers are not wolves…hitchhikers are not wolves…
Thank you and goodnight. May your dreams be protected by Sweet Lobo of Moon Clan.
(This is a detail of a 5′ x 5′ oil painting on canvas, I think I painted this wolf about 6 years ago)
anntogether 