The dawn has reached it’s zenith.

The point in between.

The trees criss-cross in a fine and unknowable pattern.

Through them, I spot a white dot.

The far out patterns of the tall logs, don’t obscure it.

Speeding through the morning air, dodging sticks and brambles.

The white dot, exudes reckless and playful energy.

Determined as nature and it’s laws.

as if nothing is different, the white dot slowly fades into the mesh of the bush.

Walking, beside the trees, I give a playful whistle.

The white dot gets larger.

it appears in front of me, with a black dot, on his white butt.

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