June 5, 2012

Ode to Winston (A Poem About My Dog). ~ Bryonie Wise

My feet hit the sidewalk,
In time to my heartbeat.
The soundtrack to my day is Feist,
Her album Metals,
Is playing on a loop.

Win is matching me step for step,
Almost prancing,
As I take us through unfamiliar streets,
Shaking the dust from our routine.
I can feel his confusion and excitement;
He knows we are going somewhere,
But not yet does he realize that
His favorite park is our destination.

And then we are beside it and
He looks at me with joy
In his brown eyes
And his pace quickens
And so does mine.

We cross the busy street and
Walk right into the woods,
Deep into the park,
Feist is singing Graveyard
But not too loud,
So I can hear the birds as well.

We walk and climb,
And smell the air,
Fresh and alive.
I look up at the
Canopy of green above our heads,
As tiny raindrops begin to fall from the sky,
Ever so lightly,
They pitter-patter on my umbrella.

I turn the music off so I can be here,
In this place of beauty,
Welcoming it all in.

We keep going,
Through the green,
And then we are in a space
Where he can run free,
And off he goes,
Running and running as fast as he can;
Through the trees and the creek,
Chasing birds and squirrels,
I swear I can see a smile on his face
As he runs.

We walk and we walk
And we are connected
To the earth below and the sky above
And to each other and
I think I saw the trees
Breathing in and out.

We start to head home,
The rain is coming down harder now,
We walk a little faster.
Rain is not his thing,
And he keeps looking up as if to say,
Why, oh why,
Do we always get caught in the rain?

And then before I know it,
We are home.
I towel him off,
He loves the rub down
Like a mini massage,
And each time we do it,
I want to photograph him
But he won’t stay still.

Upstairs, he takes his bone to his bed,
As I roll out my mat beside him,
Both cats are in the house now.
I begin to practice,
Moving but slowly and gently.

Done with his bone,
I am done with movement
And as I sit in meditation,
He sits with me.
Then eventually,
The tired takes over and he lies down,
Resting his beautiful soft head
On my lap;
Closing his eyes
He begins to snore softly.



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Editor: Brianna Bemel

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