the tall trees whine in the tin breeze,
ahead a trail bends into wood,
I glide along its whitened hood.
With summer's sun slipped far away,
the chance to walk earth's milky way
falls flake by flake across these parts,
the heart your only weather chart.
I wonder should I dig down deep,
if that would make this moment keep,
my little dog would laugh and go,
for she thinks moments can't be stowed.
A day as sweet as honeycomb,
I pocket it and turn towards home,
the raven calls atop a tree,
but I have somewhere else to be.