It gathers,
then glides across
sleeping grasses
and hard mud.
The silent waltz
of a winter's fog.
A worn duvet,
that never quite
satisfies or
seems willing
to stay put.

The moist
pungent breath
from a young dog
warms my hand.

We step.

He awaits
the perfect scent,
choosing
what to hear,
struggling
to divide
simple thoughts
of loyalty
and mischief

Together, we are there.