The hound keeps whining with anxiety’s distraction and paces in small spirals, getting tangled over her leash – frequency of vocal volumes increasing.
The wolf somehow knew I was trying to take her photo, so willfully kept turning her face away and finally curled up and lay down to rest and pant against my back.
They are both now wrapped around me as I sit – one behind and the other in front of me.
The hound got her nose harness off and is proud of her accomplishment, looking away when I call her name.
The moment I sink into being here, brief reprieve is erased.
A cool breaze embraces us with sweetness as the sun’s heat bakes nourishment into our bones.
(Title given by my youngling)
Candid Corvid Productions 