I always remember her in the amber light of hazy, late summer afternoons.
When there was dusky pink tarmac, tanned orange brick, limes bleached lemon.
She strode through the heat, her head held high.
Wearing country colours on a suburban street,
A fox’s tail tumbled down her back,
And she was fearless,
Her poise mirrored in the countenance of the four Alsatians that danced about her, lead-less, like untethered dressage horses: the possibility of their approach made your heart stop.
She was a queen.

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Holidaze

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