Early Morning Walk in April

I walked in the still bitter wind. My dog scented things far off, one of the skills all dogs have.

I think dogs can scent the past as well as things in the distance—they nose out old men in bearskin coats who traded in furs, women in hats with peacock feathers.

Particles of time flow around us.

I’m OK living without proof, don’t need to know what occurs in the heavens of stones.

A polyphonic hermit thrush was out there someplace. I heard him and thought,  “he’s early this year.”