Wednesday, 18 January 2012

Small Stone - Jan 18th

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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