Great Expectations

Dawn broke to a low full moon overlooking a foggy horizon.
 Slow, dying embers and smoke filtered through the air.
 Brother wolf had already departed, leaving me alone
 to tend to the morning chores.
I shuffle through the bag I used for a pillow, for rustic supplies.
A bag of oats I decide to share with Beau, my faithful, loyal
 steed and companion.

Herb stuffed pork sausages and bacon soon sizzle on a refurbished
 flame,topped with chopped onion and garlic.
 A pot of badly needed coffee, warms my cold hands as I pour from it
 into another metal cup absorbing the heat, equally as fast.

 I feel the warmth trickle down my throat, saturating the insides of my torso.
The outside, feeling like taught dry hide covering a skeletal form of life,
begins to melt and feel more supple.

 Life.... be it spiritual or physical, is felt all around me.
Solitude prevails.
 I am totally alone in the wilderness and yet I feel
united, blessed, protected.
 I am not alone. I am one with the forefathers of the forest.
They speak to me through the bristling brush and
the sway of old cedar.
A black crow watches from one of the lower branches,
 before deciding to gingerly step toe on the ground, cocking its' head and
 piercing eye, to have a better look.

 I smile.

 And?.........I ask him?
Do I meet with your approval?

 He struts to and fro as cocky as a bird I have ever seen, protecting his domain.
I realize, that at this rate, I would run out of bread to share with visitors.
 I rummage about in my bag again for flour specially crafted with raisins, for quick
meals and form some flat dough to pan in the fire.

 I watch him stand over the piece I threw him.
 He held it on the ground with one claw and slowly picked on it with his beak
 as if he had all the time in the world.

 It doesn't take long to make these flats breads and before I know it, I have 6 pieces
 to pack away.
The meat is filling and would keep me for the day.
If all goes well, I am going to make it home by night fall.
 Life, however, teaches one,
to always prepare for the worst and never to have expectations.
 Expectations are like pottery.
The harder you hold onto them, the quicker they crack.
Best to take it slow, one step at a time.

Beau was happy to have his body brushed of snow and a dry blanket thrown over him
under the western saddle.
I needed to keep him light, so we saddle a cow to act as a supply packhorse.
The sweet soul that she is, doesn't mind.
 It's as if she understands survival, is deserving of traveling in a pack, where safety
 is measured in numbers.
Her name is Molly and I raised her from a calf.
Straying is one of her irksome traits and the reason behind our tour of Gods' beautiful
mountain temple.
Unfortunately she is also the leader, for other cows who decide to follow her.

The smell of wolf, must still linger in her nostrils as she had close encounters before.
One can't expect love, acceptance, commitment and respect,
 when one has no understanding of concepts.
Cows don't have great expectations.
 They are there to accept what ever befalls them.
Everything is a gift, a given... as life is a given.  

"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them."  Isaiah 11:6
xoxoxxo