A Canid Droped into my Valley

The moon hangs in sky like a bone, hill sides are aglow in it's sterile light. The trees are dry in their autumn colors and a scent of fallen leaves is in the breeze. Leafs chatter, and fall, and it is quite cold. The sky is open to the heavens but the stars won't appear yet. It is late dusk. From the ridge of skull mountain she proceeds to the darkest, steepest fold. With the posture of a fugitive she drops into the familiar valley. She descends at a trot, allowing gravity to do the work. There is no bob in her back, she slides down like black silk drawn across the cold moss and shale- mute. The forest around her grows darker in the night.