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Independence Renamed as Responsibility: according to Solo, Sea Captain

Today is my birthday My Friend says. No matter, I would consider it a great day. Everyone stayed home. I may lament freedom and protection equally, but they will only pile up like the soil’s growing scars cut by wheels and track along new highways. It is not only by choice, but by nature that the roads are cracked. Air and ice push out from within. Roots grow around and through. Ownership is preserved not as maps nor contract but history. Neither iron rail nor forged gravel can rip it apart. Neither can scents nor signs claim it. If I thought My Lord too tied or too tired, I see that he and I are both captains commissioned to sail on our own waves but in the same ocean. No matter what anchors us, land or family, the chorus is the same, and it’s stronger when we chart the course together.

On our walk I pulled sharply across the upturned dirt iced with snow, and she resisted as always. I find that Bagel doesn’t, resist. Where she once saw nothing, bits of bits and pieces, a wealth of diversity to appreciate on the fence rows, now snap her nose to attention. We can never quite speak the same language, but we can compromise. My Friend can too. She took us off the double anchor and wraps our individual leashes around her wrist. Bagel can play and jump, and I won’t disturb her seeking a new scent when she squats to leave her own. Today, Bagel gave in to my path. I found the mangled bird first, decayed and fragrant with animal conversation, even coyote. It intrigued me. I paused interested. My Friend no longer uses the double tether. She is calmer with our singular leashes wrapped once around her wrist. Bagel waited anyway, more trained and trusting in our relationships. She watched the falcon circle its own shadow, a movement caught only in the corner of My Friend’s eye. The land shifted beneath my paws. When we moved again, we stepped together. It is not adventure that sustains us but anchor. Horizons are not sought, they are seen.

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