I saw a red wolf once, when I
happened to look out through
a midwinter dawn window. It
went into the trees on the other
side of our snow-covered field.

It wasn`t a fox, not even a very
large fox. Oh, no. No. It was
definitely a wolf, a big wolf, a
bright foxy-red wolf, running
swift and strong, right in front
of some very high snow-drifts
that were piled up along the far
edge of our field, and it went in
among the black vertical lines
of the crooked tree-trunks of
the sketchy young forest over
there. I could see exactly how
large, fierce and intent it was,
chasing some kind of a wild
animal into the brush, possibly
a very scared white rabbit who
was trying to find a rabbit hole.

The white rabbit was of course
inferred or imaginary but I saw
the red wolf. I watched the red
wolf for at least thirty seconds.

Then I pulled my surprised eyes
away from the window and the
white frozen world outside and
shivering bent quickly to light
the stove, to put the bright red
flame of a wooden match to the
newspaper and kindling I had
laid in the stove already, so that
everybody would be waking up
to a warm kitchen and a lovely
hint of wood smoke and coffee
and the cheerful singing of a hot
steaming kettle.

Maybe I ought to have told them
or told somebody anyway about
seeing a red wolf that morning
but I just thought they wouldn`t
believe me, and I didn`t want them
to start any silly sleepy arguments
or make any of their nasty jokes
or quibbles, you know? Besides,
the little children might so easily
have been frightened and the men
would most probably only have
wanted to kill it.

Now, looking back, I`m starting to
wonder if that isn`t something like
whatever has happened to the truth.

04/08/2017