Alter ego: Bedrock

I keep watching the two of them.

What is the core?

Where is the foundation?

Then — a whisper:

You know, Lori, I feel calm.

Just lying here, my hand resting on your side,

fingers buried in your silky fur,

feeling the rhythm of your breath.

You expect no feats, no words, no compliments.

You only need my peace.

My quiet confidence.

Perhaps they even have a scent of their own.

And still you wait for the open field —

the moment your whole body bursts into motion,

unrestrained,

tearing through space, straight toward the horizon.

Like a spring, you bend into an arc

and shoot forward,

a lightning bolt set free.

Then you empty your bowl with a happy crunch,

drink water,

lie down by my feet,

close your eyes

and fall asleep,

gathering strength again.

And all this I give you —

taking in return only your quiet canine silence

and that gaze

people call

the most faithful in the world.

Let him watch us.

Oh… he heard it, I think. Surprised?

No matter.

Our conversation — when I speak and you listen —

is only his illusion.

Yes. My illusion…

And who can tell which “I” comes first —

the one of stillness and foundation,

or the one of rebellious hardness?