Wildflower Writes

“It’s a golden doodle,” said my co-worker. She had brought pictures of her new puppy to work. “A what?” I asked. “A cross between a golden retriever and a poodle. A golden doodle.” she repeated. The photograph showed a miniature canine with pale gold kinky fur, long ears, and bright black eyes. It was playing in the grass. “Where does the “d” come from in doodle?” I asked. A doodle was a scribble on a piece of paper. It was not a dog. “I don’t know!” she exclaimed, a little exasperated with me. I remember the days when dogs stuck to their own kind. There were no schnoodles or doodles or mi-kis. Who do we think we are, messing with nature? My first dog was one third red setter, one third husky, and one third collie. I’m not sure how you breed a dog by thirds, but that was how I remember it. Her name was Frances. She loved to run through the open field at the end of the road. Frances also liked to swim, which was bad news whenever she managed to escape from the house. S...

I came across some really old papers today- like almost 20 years old! I found some poetry I had written about 10 years ago. Here’s a taste… let me know if it leaves you hungry for more, or running for the door (that rhymed!) Crystal cold Whispers of breath ascend to the heavens Dark fingers of trees against an awakening sky Violet mountains of clouds in the distance Harsh rasp of a dog’s bark breaks the silence Windows dark, streets bare Rubber against pavement in a steady rhythm Her body sings with adrenaline She is awake- she is alive! In a world that is cold and dead A quiet victory