Blueberry sky. A still wind, silent, and lingering, like flatulence. Temperature is low-feverish. Sounds of claws tic against cement and eastward something furry appears, its low growl and leather collar an indication that danger may be present. I am here.
It is one of those profound and profane moments when the universe seems to recoil upon itself as I stare into the dog’s eyes, connecting, understanding, and fearing for my life. Someone once said animals harbor great wisdom, although the person was not a vegetarian and hunted regularly, and therefore, of questionable trustworthiness. In an aggressive huff, the canine lifts its head as if to speak. I am frozen.
Fear has its own translation. His words rumble through the growl. Beware of dogma…beware of dogma.