A Dog Barking at the Wind


It’s been a quiet day, and I watched a lizard on the garden wall at sunset, lightning
in the nearest mountains. Early evening yet, and I sit quietly in my living room chair. A
dried-up leaf on a houseplant in the window reminds me of a minor loss I can’t seem to
forget. An owl hoots and the refrigerator rumbles to life.
I step out onto the porch. A dog is barking at the wind. A breeze swirls down the
canyon, tumbling in the aspen leaves, rolling over the meadows in search of horses.
More dogs barking, and I can see by the porchlight a brief spatter of raindrops in the dust.
Then everything is quiet again for the longest time. The air grows cool, and I
imagine the world covered in snow. A crow spreads its wings and breaks my white
silence, its sharp call cracking the brittle air. My thoughts return to the porch and this
silence, and I long for something I cannot name. Yesterday I might have said it was

Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.