Raking Leaves in the Wind

Raking Leaves in the Wind

My dog cocks his head,
turns his nose to the right,
catches whatever early spring
scent is in the air.  Or
maybe he wonders what I’m
doing, raking leaves in the wind.
The pile at my feet flutters,
into the air,
swirling in a tight
before settling again.
I pull my rake
over the dirt,
the leaves
once more in the tines,
shaping them
again in a futile pile.
The dog cocks
his head,
turns his nose,
catches the breeze
as it rises again.
I turn your words
over in my head
one more time,
pulling them tight,
then watching them lift and
flutter in my mind,
leaves of thoughts
caught in the early
breeze of the spring day.
Last fall’s leaves linger.
The morning’s work clears
the soil for the new growth,
the wind lifts your words,
the dog cocks his head,
catches the spring scent,
as your words settle again

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