Sunsets, mountains, solitude, a comfortable old rocking chair and a unique companionship.
Another hard day of work faced him, but his commitment to this new life drove him on with an intense determination to finish the uncountable tasks he needed to complete before the snows hit. That morning, a light patchy mist enveloped his ridge, appearing to him like an unknown army of wavering ancient ghosts upon the muffled landscape. Taking sips of his strong, pungent coffee, waiting for his breakfast to finish frying, he noticed a subtle movement on the edge of the haze covered tree line. He watched as a large wolf emerged from the ghostly mist and walked slowly and deliberately towards him. Something inside told him he had nothing to fear, but he reached for his hunting knife anyway, slipping it close just in case his instincts proved to be incorrect. The old wolf continued to approach, stopping several times to survey the old man before coming to within several feet, then sitting back on its haunches, and looked at the frying with sizzling meat. There is definitely something unnatural happening here and the old man sat in wonderment. With slow movements, the old man took a piece of uncooked venison from the cooler and tossed it to the wolf. With movements that reminded the old man of a favorite dog from many years before, the wolf bent down, sniffed the piece of still bloody meat that landed close to his immense paws and picked it up, slowly chewing. He seemed to savor not only the morsel, but the ease of its gain. He old man chuckled as he realized he was not entirely alone on this mountain side. His fantasy provided a pseudo companionship that was missing from his life. A bond seemed to have developed, and the old man sat in peace.
“You know, you and I. we’re both the same. We live our lives alone, relying on our instincts in nature to keep us alive and never giving up our freedom.” the old man said. “Maybe some day, you will understand what I am telling you.” The wolf stared back and blinked.
Breakfast finished, the two departed and the old man went back to work. Progress was continuing slowly and the rain tight roof began to take shape. Soon he would be living comfortably in his little one room log cabin. The plans for this new home came from his dreams. Small, warm, and with a front covered porch facing the setting suns.
“Home.” he thought. “And here I will watch my final sunset.”
“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.” Crow Nation
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