An Ode to My Dog Upon This Mid-Winter Storm

Shelli Rottschafer

Tempest muse I can’t escape
              from this inscape called house
Does it shelter or contain during this mid-winter storm?
February used to provide a white blanket upon the backyard’s floor
Now it’s carpeted by pelting rain turned ice.

The dog shifts upon hardwood floor
An outward glance, his eyes settle on crumpled leaf
              which dances upon wind
              and glides to stop, caught in the net-like imprint of his paw.
He whines to be out.

The door ushers in a gust so chill
Its precision creates a line I dare not cross,
              but he chooses to pounce, that tantalizing foliage has met its
              match.

What a difference between his free flowing verse
Puppy exuberance and my inattentive slipper-ed waddle,
              back to the steaming cup of organic tea that awaits my fingers
              mid type.

The relationship between these lines I write, and the one that calls me outdoors
              to stomp on ice
              hear it crack beneath my weight.
              I long to kneel, and flounder belly exposed
              My child-like whim flutters like angel wings

Attend to its shape:
              Outstretch arms, legs extend wide
              Back and forth, back and forth:
              a patterned rhythm of their own.