I had a dream last night: I was tasked with capturing a wild black beast that was inside a suburban home. I stood outside the porch of the house with a small dog – as it had been determined that the dog’s presence would calm the beast. I opened the porch door and the beast immediately bounded out past us, over the road, between houses opposite and began trying to leap over a fence there.
A professional trapper shouted to me to get back to a safe place and I ran to the garage we had based ourselves in. Shots rang out, and then the trapper returned to the garage carrying the beast on his shoulders and dumping down its corpse on the concrete before going back outside. He returned dragging the rope lead of the dog, sliding it’s lifeless body into the garage. I saw a bullet wound in its side and the blood trail made by dragging it here – and inside I was all a turmoil repeating – Why did you kill the dog! Why did you kill the dog!
Then I awoke, in some wolfish hour of the morning, and my murmurings woke Claire too and we went to the window to watch the sky, and we saw the curve of the Earth on the super blood wolf moon, and I thought: there is the shadow of everything we know. This shadow vision somehow more powerful than the blue pearl witnessed from space, or earthrise over our lunar cousin – perhaps because we saw this with our own eyes.
In the sleepdrift of the rest of dawn, moonlight entering the room between the open curtains, some part of me considered how we seek to contain the wild, erase the uncontainable, and the false security of domesticity. The morning brought wireless signals of acquaintance’s deaths and the garden was a silver path of frost.