Morning when the fog lifts

It was a morning when the fog lay low on the grass. Dew had formed on the fingertips that handed me the leash.

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Late Frost

Sitting on a bench on a walk, the spot where a dog looked back while being pulled away stays empty by evening.

Beyond

When I shifted the hand holding the leash, the dew on the leather strap spread across the back of my hand.

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