Dog and I weave our way through giant spines of thorn to braid patience
Hare, tucks, bolts full speed and slides, wet between my ankles mistaking these brown rubber boots for tree trunks
Alive, still able to chase, Old Dog comes thundering up smiling, though visibly disappointed ~ Where's the Rabbit?
All present ~ laughed
From Thursday Sept. 30, 2010 The Writer's Almanac
W.S. Merwin wrote in a poem called "Separation":
"Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color."
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