It seems late this year
The yellowing of these leaves
This carpet of foliage composted
The fogging of my breath
Under the low white sunlight
He turns off the path to sniff and snort
Rifling at sycamore roots
Curling through the pawpaws
Grazing among elm volunteers
Stripping twigs bare
Munching last green leaves
Same botanical breakfast he had yesterday
He tears off after deer
Gone for 15 minutes or so
For him, the world is alive
With smells, sounds, and vibes
He finds patterns and reads signs
Identifies friend, foe, and prey,
He comes back to greet a Lab
Gets chased by a Visla
Hunts for the fox that left the scat
And ignores the rest
We follow the creek up
Towards the library gardens
We pass two elderly walkers,
Wielding four poles between them
People are friendly out here
Nodding or saying hello or nothing
Careful to never interrupt
Each other’s private idyll
A middle-aged white guy
Shlubby, but decent like me
Like most of us, probably
Comes up the path
Followed by his well-behaved Doodle
We nod to each other, dogman to dogman
We complement the hounds
Stepping past each other
And on our ways forever
Only then do I notice his IDF baseball cap
It reminds me of the hospital yesterday
And my colleague who cheered it on
And the other who wrings his hands
But says nothing
I continue walking up the path,
Heart thumping,
Breaths cut
By the climb
Or the sight of a hat
I cross the bridge and continue up
I think of all the things I could have said
But didn’t
And suddenly, for the first time
I notice how alone I am
Where’d he go?
I think he was up there all along,
But I couldn’t see him for the tears
He was kneeling, snout in muck
Then rolling in it,
A pile of scat, an old carcass, or both
Get out of there, you filthy…!
Even from this distance
You can smell the stench of shit and death on him
(October 2024)