Zeke nestles up tight, his back to my chest, resting his nose on his paws. My arm wraps around his sternum, his heart beats on my finger tips, low and slow. His brown eyes, Full, are On the window. His nose twitches, Bird.
The air offers no resistance to the morning rush of robins, sparrows and finches. Bird song floods the room.
Man and his bird dog. Domesticated, fattened calves, gorged on Comfort. Thousands of years of Evolution to arrive here, Now.
Roof, walls, comforter, bed, Warmth.
He drifts. His eyes, a mirrored pool of melancholia, flash back with longing to a time of his ancestors, running in the Hungarian woods flushing grouse – tails pointing to the drumming beat of wings.
A soft wind gust rattles the blinds. He turns from the window, looks up at me and sighs, as if to recite Stafford,
“Breathe on the world. Hold out your hands to it.”
- Photograph: Cara Olinger with her Vizsla (via I Can’t Stop Reblogging)
- Related Posts: Saturday Morning and Zeke Series
- Posted inspired by Whiskey River share: “When one lives with birds one sees how the noise level of the birds keeps up with the noise level of the house, with the wind that begins to whisper and whistle across the sidings, with each notch up you turn the volume dial on your record player. It is the rumble and rasping of the inert things that provokes the vocalization of the animals; fish hum with the streams and birds chatter in the crackling of the windy forest. To live is to echo the vibrancy of things. To be, for material things, is to resonate. There is sound in things like there is warmth and cold in things, and things resonate like they irradiate their warmth or their cold.” – Alfonso Lingis, The Community of Those Who Have Nothing in Common.