The Ridge And The Run Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

I know the cold before it bites the stone,
I walk the pine-ridge, not alone, but one.
My shadow stretches on
the frozen white,
A silent ghost before the rising light.

The wind brings news of caribou and deer,
A sudden scent that sharpens eyes and ears.
No hate is in the chase,
no needless pride,
Just hunger pulling heavy deep inside.

We move as water bends around the creek,
My brothers know, the word we do not speak.
A flick of ear, a lowering of the head,
We tread the path where ancient feet have tread.

And when the dark rolls heavy on the hill,
When every rustle in the brush grows still,
I lift my muzzle to the
silver sky,
To let the quiet empty places cry.

I am the shadow slipping through the trees,
An untamed breath upon the winter breeze.
No fence can hold the longing in my chest,
The open wild is where my bones find rest.