Interlude With Wolves

                                           By Jeff Baker

            The man had been sitting on the cliff overlooking the lake for some time when the wolves approached.

            “See,” the younger wolf said. “He’s barely moved since I was here this morning. And he didn’t notice me.”

            “No wonder,” said the older wolf. “I see humans like this one at this spot quite frequently. They come here to stare at the lake, the sky and the trees.” The older wolf flicked his tail. “But they come this distance to stare at wonders and ignore the wonders in the places they live; the growing grass, children, the beginning of a new day.”

            “How is it that you know so much?” the younger wolf asked.

            “Experience. Taking the time to observe with all my senses,” the older wolf said. “This man will return to his civilization and go back to his way of not noticing.”

            “Is he here to jump?” the younger wolf asked.

            “No,” said the older wolf. “There is no smell of death here, but he may fall if he is not careful. It is how men live their lives; between death and caution.”

            The two wolves turned and walked down the cliff, the younger wolf glancing back.

            “Our lives are better,” the older wolf said.  “We meet our food. We know how to breathe and how to live.”

            The younger wolf thought about this but he still looked back at the man one more time.

                                                —end—