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P.59 TO ACCOMPANY IMAGE
The Rut My home is the damp forest floor. My world is lush, verdant and emerald green. A myriad of scent fills my nostrils till I am intoxicated by it all; rose, pine and moss infused with the sweetness of poplar sap, swirl together. The heady pungent odor of wild cranberry is everywhere, even in my coat. The fallen leaves create a dying mosaic on the forest floor, orange, crimson, rust and gold as they release the long days of summer, making room for the blanket of stars that will light the long nights of winter. I am the thunderous clack, clack as antler meets antler in the heat of the fight. I am the velvet, peeling like flesh leaving bone as my essence is shredded against the fragile, opalescent birch bark. I am the rise and fall of the chest, breath like fire in my lungs, the pounding pulse in the early morning fog. My name is Rut and the survival of my kind depends on this battle, this pulse, that is as primal as life itself. Fear has no place as I charge through the forest, my mind focused, my body poised, muscles quivering, target sensed. Do not stand in my way, nor threaten to claim my prize. It is mine and mine alone. Sherry Leigh Williams
www.dialogue.ca
VOL. 31, NO. 2, WINTER 2017-18
dialogue 59