ok, it isn't much by way of snow, not like other places. I'm just sooo glad right now that I'm not in rush hour any more. Behind that wall lives BigDog - who has the most gorgeous deep voice, full of vibrant, rich and subtle tone. He barks as soon as I start to worry that I haven't heard him. Or when I am close to sleep. I don't mind. We have a telepathic link and that's cool. I need to know he's safe and present, since he isn't allowed indoors. The adults on his side of the wall regard his kind as unclean beasts. It's cold, the road is full of diamonds (the real things, not the stuff we invent as valuable) and I can only hug him with these words.From my side of his wall.
His voice has helped me write; he makes me feel connected. Reassured. I recall when he first arrived. His sky-calls had a repetitive pattern and I ached to know exactly what he was saying. He gets no loving; no pats, not even company, except in summer when his younger people are outside. I love him. He's barking as I type. I like that. It's right that I speak of him, his huge soul and praise his cosmic place in my quiet life.
Sometimes there are no walls.
Also on the otherside, unknown bird-beings, maybe peacocks, who make terrifying and disturbing sounds - possibly before they leave this life? I don't know for sure, but when they scream, it's always really late at night ... and then nothing.
That worries me too.
