CHAPTER 16 OLFACTORY - “ALL FACTORY” GUIDANCE Early September 1980 Yea, faileth now even dream The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist; Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist, Are yielding; cords of all too weak account For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed. James Lawrence, Hound of Heaven
(HOUND SPEAKS) SMELL is a more than a nose. Sense of smell, olfaction, nose sense, these favor my survival. My lair is in the deep forest located below Cliff drive’s west terminus slightly east of the Paseo Bridge, a site somewhat shielded from rail car coupler noise. Given my recent history I possessed reservations about humans, nevertheless I inched forward toward meeting two new cliff visitors, a middle-aged male with a passion for flora and fauna. The second was a woman, although from the past. To be clear, I am not a wolf and never howled to summon her spirit, that tired old story marches on. I could have joined them but waited instead. She was not a threat to me and I reasoned the man would prove reliable, too. Her dress folds touched multiple ferns as she sat on her heels speaking to the man. Following three observational weeks, I allowed them to see me. She spoke first, noting my ancestry. He’s a Belgian Tervuren but he possesses some Malinois coloration, too. The man was more guarded,