I suppose we're neighbors in a way.
I've always known you live here, too.
I see the signs you leave behind,
Hear you and your friends at night as you hunt,
or take a break to howl at the moon.
It always gives me a thrill and sly smile
as I snuggle safely in my bed.
But this morning on my walk,
as I lifted my eyes to look ahead,
there you were, sitting on a small rise,
watching my slow progress up the hill.
We stared at each other
a frank and honest appraisal,
neither of us moving or
trying to break the spell.
And when you were satisfied,
you rose and squatted, marking this place as your own.
I watched as you disappeared into the shadow of the trees,
and whispered Namaste, as we went our separate ways.


© by Julie Creighton.
Used with the author’s permission.