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My
name is Dog, and I bark at the moon.
In the sultry heat of the day you'll hardly notice me. I lie languid
and still on a patch of lush grass, in the shade of a tree, and
silently watch the world passing by.
As
the sun sets I stir. The smells of human food seem all around. I eat.
I drink. I defecate. Then I begin to prowl. The day's dust settles
behind me as I move, though the absorbed heat still rises from the
road, and reaches from the walls as I pass, like the faint, unseen
caress of a phantom's hand.
I sense the faint rustlings of small night creatures, especially among
the discarded refuse of humankind. They hold no interest for me, and
the larger, feline race merely amuses me. They are everywhere.
Watchful, ever watchful of me, they move with a grace I could never
achieve. They fix their almond eyes on me as I approach, and I see
their sleek bodies tense, ready to flee, then, as I pass, I sense them
relax while they watch me move away.
If
only they knew, if only they had the imagination, what power they
could wield!...but they do not, and so they continue in their daily
struggle; and I move on.
Occasionally I come across others of my kind, all known to me at some
level, and acknowledgements are made. Yet I form no lasting ties. I
make my own way.
To
the cliff I move, passing humans performing much the same ritual as my
own. I know the smells of many of these people well. They too walk the
sea's edge as night comes, each day following a familiar path, each
one paying their own homage to the sun's light as it fades away. Each
one perhaps with an unspoken prayer in their heart that this will not
be their last night, that they will see the dawn again.
And
as the velvet darkness descends, and the people leave the cliff to
settle into their man-made islands of security, I am left with the
quiet lapping of the waves on the shore. And the moon is made
manifest.
Alone in the heavens it has shape and substance and weight. All those
other points of light are meaningless, too distant to have any
bearing. But the moon...the moon is companion. The moon is watcher.
The moon is Lord, and with his great pale eye he sees me, and I sing
to him, for his approval.
For my name is Dog, and I bark at the moon. |
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