Friday, January 6, 2012

River of stones No 5

The young dog disappears, last seen chasing deer along the top field, my first experience of her runaway nature. I call her name, use all the commend words I know, call, call, train the binoculars on every horizon. Now sleeping, a scratched nose hints at a route through the woody undergrowth, ditch mud leaves light halos on her coat –suspicions of an interesting journey.

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