Misty Dogs

I imagine someone wandering over plains and upon hills with their dog scampering in the distance, and I imagine them bringing their thoughts along too and casting these thoughts into the wind with a will and fondness like a kind of ritual. Perhaps it is a relationship with memories, nurtured after transition, where the memories also have a life.

Misty dogs roam romantic hills,
we pelt to the tip of the top of the fell,
holding love letters like paper planes,
before letting go,
to let go,
takes strength,
but never forgetting,
forever is devotion,
devotion to the memories,
in the wind which chime,
there are good reasons why the seasons rhyme,
dedication to rhythm,
two hearts become sunrise,
the wind has a voice,
and today it will be yours,
as was yesterday,
and tomorrow of course,
it may soar on wing or simply stir the trees,
just as misty dogs play in turning leaves.

If gravity is the sea then the wind is the ocean,
our words are little boats which sail to one another,
to know you are there,
to give time,
they give good reasons why the sea has a tide,
hearts are the last of the great explorers,
never resting until they discover,
never complete until they are sure,
but some lose faith and are never cured,
misty dogs run in the palm of our hands,
fetching the paper planes which land,
memories return,
ebb and flow,
savour the good ones,
hold the good ones close.