On my day of departure our brook

is black and melting, swollen –

somehow, the dogs can sense I’m straying.

For a few days I’ll walk a warmer climate,

in much more pleasant weather.  Along

the river of our daily rite, I feel their tug

to stay home safe, trust habit and familiar

 – but in the marsh the willow whips

bloom fiercely red and rousing

All photos and text copyright Kelly DuMar 2017