Predawn

In the quiet before dawn, As a waning quarter moon rises The click clack of my Mastiff's steps beside me The roar of motors a mile away On a farm to market road. The stars are bright this morning. Even bright enough to say hello despite the street lights and house lamps. The air is cool and crisp, unseasonably so Normally it would feel like a sauna. Birds are gathering breakfast for their youngins, And the occasional polecat is unperturbed by my presence. It's not a country thing It's not a city thing. But it is my thing This walk every morning Doing my part to wear down the cement In this wild place in which I live.