...and the last of the apples have fallen from the naked twigs, shriveled and dry.
The grass, each blade coated and frozen, crunches beneath my boot heels.
A smell emits from the carcasses as they lay dieing in the frost.
My nose picks up on every change in the cool morning air.
Crows or magpies bicker far off in the distant.
Where are you moments and why have you forsaken me?
Are you not listless near the bicycle tires, warming in the sun?
Or are you speechless, utterly petrified at the sight of the empty doghouse?
Mine is the kingdom of mind and the glory of morning forever and ever. Amen.
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