Wolves flank the scattered few who can’t keep up with migration
while the rest continue westward as if nothing had been taken from
them. Then there are horses refusing to save themselves from
stable fire. By the river, a family divvies up ashes. At home, a
family forgets where it put them. A copperhead curls motherly
around a mouse, which chokes us up, reminds us of childhood.
When the camera turns off, usually it swallows. Add this to our list
of truths: order and disorder make us equally vulnerable. What we
call upon to exist again are the things that never left us. I can’t tell
if barn owls sulk or celebrate over their cathedral of bones, why
some people pray over what they’ve killed. Maybe this is the place
we dream of when we’re able to dream. On odd nights I dream
myself a wolf and even nights I am ash churning down a river. Is
this one of those rivers that empties into a sea? Can this please be
one of those culling dreams that strengthens the herd?………………
by John Sibley Williams ……………………………………………………………..
Gulf Stream Magazine 