Uli Dog

Our dog of 17 1/2 years is now buried in our backyard.

Saturday, I was having coffee in "our" favorite chair (we used to have coffee in the mornings, read, and watch squirrels run around the yard).  It was after morning rain and I noticed beads of raindrops gathering on the thin branches of a birch tree.  This is the first draft of what Frost might describe as "scrapings of the brain pan."  A work in progress:

In the peaceful calm
After the Spring storm
A tiny bead of rain
On a twig -- hanging on

Reflecting . . .
Refracting . . .
Her tiny universe
She grows Heavy
Drops to the earth
Where you now sleep

How long will my waiting spirit
Have to wait?
When will I see you again?

The creek floods and flows

Into a river of tears

And evaporates

Into clouds appear

We’re just tiny beads

Hanging on a twig
Reflecting . . .
Refracting . . .
Our tiny universe
Until we grow heavy
Drop to the earth 

And evaporate

When will I see you again? 

Carpe diem Life,

David Kuhn