Our Love ~via~ Mic

From On Her Way

A Nightly Croon

It's late. It's very late. I step out into the night and hear the dogs barking through out the city.

Many dogs; large and small. From all the odd and differing neighborhoods. Each dog with a yard. Each yard with a fence. Each fence with a sign - "Beware of Dog".

And I'm wondering, "What are they barking about?"

It's quiet, but for their voices. Do they know about one another's lives from the nightly reports they give?

Of their people and their people's frustrations or anger, or sadness, or indifference, unexpressed, or badly expressed.

Of their worries about whether they'll eat enough, or get to sniff enough trail?

Or tail?

And I think of my beauty, Mason.

Steve Mason, who spends his long, cold nights under the primodial stars, the only other kindred voices coming to him are on the rare occasions when the wolf packs sing, over the ridge lines, they, thrilled at the Northern Lights and the sounds of a distant, different pack.

Singing the news of tomorrow's promise.

And he's quiet. At peace amidst the night and it's sounds

her moment ~ i breathe

over the side
across from now
you hang gently

the last thumbtack
holding you
keeps loosening

I sit within
view and smile

Watch or Listen, and Make Glad the Heart ~

From The Blue Room

The live cinecast of A Prairie Home Companion will be shown Feb. 4th and again in an encore performance, Feb. 9th at a theater near you ~ or someone you know. Hope you can catch it.

Or, you can join me listening to the radio airing, or any time from the archives online.

Ahhh, lovely.