i believe word travels.
and they know of another place – of sweet blue grass and languid breezes.
turnouts with nice plants and friendly trees, less prickly, not always on the defensive.
of days spent out of range of the howl, and primal chill, of Mexican grey wolves, living just down the road, closer to the Verde, the river, the rio, which gives this place its name.
but on days like today, winter days, when the sun sits low, softly brushing down their coats – easy days – i believe they dream of this place.
and word travels.