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It was dark now. Big Paul, a veteran sheepdog, was already at guard, guarding the sheep. (Hey, what did you expect?) It was still relatively early after sunset, so everything was quiet, though not too quiet, and Big Paul could already smell someone familiar. “Red,” Big Paul called out to that specific someone. “Come out of the grass – I can smell you!” “Yes you can,” Red, a male red fox, did look out of the grass, though he kept his distance, given the size difference between himself and Big Paul. “So what? I am not harassing your sheep, and there are not even any lambs. Piss off!” Big Paul frowned. “This is what I want to talk to you about,” he told Red. “Everyone and everything seem to be more on edge lately than normally; is it because of the dry spell, or not-?” Big Paul did not finish, as a breeze brought a wisp of a scent to him – bobcat! Big Paul had his own opinion of the wildcat – unlike red foxes, bobcats were quite capable of killing even adult sheep, (if they got lucky)

Contrarian by nature Fragile above the surface I draw my strength from the deepest They sever me and Lay me on my death bed Where I scatter my remains To feed the superficial their unknown They absorb me Flourish around my grave I stay resilient in the inbetween Holding a lifeline in the darkness A slender thread of patience As long as the water glows And the moon drips on my pillow My rebirth will curse the rigid I am societies weed My death is never final