bear thinks by scent, and there's so much to think on that she sometimes barely notices me, except for the frustrating weight on end of the leash prompting a sidelong glance, and that's not me, i want to tell her, i also want to be free, and follow where my strongest sense leads, but what sense would that be? 

oh i started wanting to recall my grandmother dying, as i just read in wild silence her perception of her mother dying, and it was the same, there was a  stillness, a pause and a stopping, and her eyes were open, and they went opaque, and then i saw the shadow of a butterfly decal on her sliding glass door flutter slightly on her headboard, and then i looked that direction at the green hill beyond, and then i looked again and looked like feeling, i saw a mist like steam rise and leave, and that was, so gently, it. 

i wanted to be in that place again, not mournful, but extraordinary, that rising up after the last breath.