Walking the earth, it’s impossible to not make marks.Foot prints in snow of woman, cat, bird.
As valid for me as for the cat and bird that walked before me.

Walking the earth, making marks.

And.
Goes both ways.
Being, she makes marks upon me.
Being (earth).

Solid ground, supports.
Snowy ground, both cold and wet.
Frozen, she’s dormant.

Heading out, away, I snow dipped.
Lay down on the snow covered ground, atop grass and moss, fallen leaves from Walnut tree, felt her cool embrace me. On my back, gazing up at the cloudy night sky.

Did I flip over? Lay on my belly?
As if wanting to wrap her in my embrace, return the favor?
I don’t remember.
I don’t always.

Heading in, back, drawn to warmth, shelter, the comfort of my living room, bits of snow melt down my spine.
I pause. Notice.

Mesmerised by the trio of marks.

Amazed.
Aware.
Alive.