Nothing but a Hound Dog
I imagine you stepping elegantly from a medieval tapestry to
run beside horses through the yellowed winter grass. Lips held in a smile as
you fly, ears flapping in joyful, random bounds before stopping, head high, eye
to the horizon. Attuned to the slightest movement, you stop, stand motionless,
head still, and stare. A sudden sighting of something too distant or minuscule
for my eyes and you are off. The chase is on. Hunter and hunted sharing the
same open field. A bird launches itself into the pale blue sky, swerves teasingly
above your head and flies high. Back trotting by my side, paws held high in a
wet grass avoiding prance, you nudge my pocket as if to say “I’ve come back. I
deserve my reward.”
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