eremacausis

It must be lib­er­at­ing to be up at this hour, run­ning about in rags through the park, kick­ing at phan­toms and flies, stretch­ing under the watch­ful gaze of the few still func­tion­ing street lamps. I look down from behind glass and over the wall and long to steal a bit of his free­dom. What would hap­pen, I won­der, if I crept past my sleep­ing wife, sleep­ing dogs, sleep­ing gate, and hid behind one of the grand molle trees to watch closer?

There are dogs pass­ing by, though not often, cast­ing shad­ows across walls. He doesn’t notice them, or me, as we shadow our way in a weave, care­ful to respect one another’s breath­ing. If I was to step out from this spot, and let my shadow fall upon him, would he let me in on his secret? Most likely, he would stop his pre-dawn cal­is­then­ics and speak to me. But then I would lose inter­est, because he would have lost his freedom.

Crawl­ing back into the wrap of bed is best, or an invis­i­ble nod.