Winter Moon

My old dog and I walk the tree lined path.
The high winter moon hits the highest point 
making a lacy pattern of shadows.
The hard snow glistens on soft southern soil.

Cold, crunchy footing reminds me of
a clear Pennsylvania night.
My footsteps reverberate in the bare woods.
Bentley’s footsteps pad quietly behind.

When oats hit the red bucket bottoms,
the horses move gently to their fence post.
We exhale small clouds of love on their soft muzzles.
They nicker hello on our breaths.
Bentley’s big, black nose sniffs the sweet alfalfa.

As we turn back to granny’s warm farmhouse,
a yellow glow beckons us to
a warm fire, hot cocoa and dog cookies.
The moon follows us home.

Circa 2003 ~ My sweet Airedale companion, Bentley

​Story inspirations and ideas are my own. Thus, positive reactions are welcome. Criticism not.