Dancing with Wolves
An Evening Call:
I woke up to the howl of a wolf! He is a redundant individual, repeating his call. The voice came from the south probably less than the southern border of the great field that I am glamping near. In the quiet calm of the forest, everything takes notice of the message.
Then, closer, another gets my attention. This one sounds more like a whimper, like a puppy in the forest. It can’t be very far for such a sound to carry. As I listen more intently for direction, this one is on the opposite side of my tent. I wonder just what message it is out to convey with this noise. Perhaps it is a pup calling to its mother.
I unzip a window to confirm. Then I quietly arise to unzip the front door of the tent. I had left the outside canvas cover down last night in case of rain and to trap some heat. I poke my head out to look in every direction. These wolves are so close, but the sounds that interrupted my sleep have stopped with the pull of a zipper.
I’ve been up just about 45 minutes. I climb out of the tent, noting the morning sun. The warm light hasn’t reached the woods, but the golden dry grasses of the woodland’s prairie are aglow.
There is a chill and I’ll wait for heat. I’m still bundled and clammy from my night under a wool sleeping bag and the humidity of rain in the night.
I think to move the Luggable Lou (toilet bucket) closer to the campsite. DF has gone to Tucson and it is just me now. There is no need for privacy.
My concern is how animals, particularly canines, might …
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