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Nov 13, 2019 17:19
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Nov 22, 2019 00:43
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The Reality of Hunting Dogs Heaven’s net casts wide. Though its meshes are coarse, nothing slips through. Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching #71 Half remembered, now: a dark October night, bracing cold, and all hounds — save one — placed back into the camper shell by starlight. My grandfather’s ears scanned the gloom. He paced, listening for the baying, then scooped me up — striding into the swamp. Lit by carbide, muddy paw prints (evidence of his pup?) were all we found along the bayou’s side. Over pine covered hillocks, he’d let me tramp, before carrying me across hip-deep marshes. We turned back in twilight’s damp chill. She sat truck-side, like nothing was amiss - her nose swelling up from a copperhead’s kiss.
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Nov 27, 2019 04:51
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Down 2 Judge
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Nov 29, 2019 00:41
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