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. |
.
Right click and select
'save target as' to download |
Studio
recording and engineering by:
.
|
