Small walks, morning and evening, to hunt the scent of bobcat and lion, coyote and javelina, to follow the side by side tracks of hunters in the arroyos. I hear the breath of leaves. Evening light fractures language. These words I’ve carried all day in my mind sliver. The dogs find something to roll in, something to eat.
Dianne M. Bret Harte on Snitzle heidivanderbilt on The puppies opened their … david root on The puppies opened their … Liz LaFarge on Snitzle Joyce H. on Snitzle