Annie is a King Charles Cavaliar,
with with a soft brown nose. She trots in front of him,
every now and again, glancing back,
her tongue out.
It must be about 6.30pm, just before the sun has fully set. When everything is harder to see, sometimes harder to understand.
Martin thinks while he walks, lets his mind wander. He once said to his wife,
"I'd be insane if I didn't go on my walks." She had rolled her eyes,
crossed her legs, and
changed the channel on the TV.
"I have long legs, good for walking," Martin thought.
His wife was short.
He walks along the brown banks,
tufts of green beginning to emerge,
"Summer can't be that far off," he thinks,
gumtrees splay their khaki green leaves on one side of him,
the river on the other.
Annie is off the lead. Her tail wags, her nose sniffs the ground,
"As if following an invisible map," Martin thinks.
Annie stops by a tree, it's silver bark in the half light catches Martin off guard,
"How Beautiful."
His eyes fall to where Annie sniffs at his feet.
She has something in her mouth.
"That looks like a finger," he thinks.
...
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