Walking My Dog
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Walking My dog
By A. Gagliardi
Walking my dog in Springtime
scrutinizing yards for freshly awakened
buds of Crocus & Hyacinth
that peek from lingering snow and reach
their necks recklessly into the frosty air,
unaware their presence sends the thrill of
long-anticipated regeneration through my soul.
Walking my dog during summer
before the buzz of the noon-day bee
and the lawn-mower-hum and the
heated roar of the mid-day sun.
As morning tip-toes softly into the day,
we slowly make our way, listening to the music of
Bluebirds and Orioles singing their summer hymn.
Walking my dog in Autumn
Through the out-of-chlorophyll fragrance of leaves that
crunch beneath my feet and the
mellow-mushroom-smell of decomposing.
Someone’s grilled-steak-scent mingles with
the acrid dog refuse I carry as we
stroll the fermented atmosphere.
Walking my dog in winter
as fast as we can, before the arctic air
and the mind-numbing-bone-chilling cold
renders us immobile on the snow-laden streets.
We hurry, shivering our way home,
feeling glacial cold penetrating our coats as we
scramble inside the safety & warmth of our home.
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