Black Wolf of My Heart

Black and silver shadows

flit among the trees,

ears alert

for the sound 

of other creatures

in the bush,

tails plumed, arching

over supple backs:

Beauty.

And then

I see you:

black against 

your silver pack.

Your steps slow.

Your eyes meet mine.

Your head tilts back.

You sing

a mournful howl.

My eyes bless every 

moving muscle,

every hair,

from nose

to tip of tail.

I miss you,

yes,

it hurts,

but seeing you

brings joy

for, in those 

fleeting moments,

you live again.

Last night I was walking with my little friend Sebastian, and we met another boy walking his black dog, who looked like Pup, only smaller. The boy said she had been rescued from a pack of feral dogs living and breeding with the wolves on Meares Island. That made her one of Pup's relatives. I rescued him in the same way.

When we went back inside, there was a film about wolves on National Geographic. My heart lifted at the beauty of these glorious creatures moving across the screen. Mostly silver wolves....but some black. And one looked exactly like my boy, Pup. How the heart can feel joy and pain at the same time. How I still miss my guy.