Two Wolves, their heads come down to the hard surface, picking up the many scents that adorn this great old Stone. Bobcat urine freshly overlays the faint musk of pine martin, and little tiny droppings mark the passage of mouse, and hunting shrews during the last night.

Two Wolves, look up, stand tall into the wind; looking east then north and west, the fall air is clear.

Two Wolves lie smoothly, sides lightly touching.

Stone, sighs again with patience and love.

Long ago when Stone was young he wished he could sometimes wrap himself around such visitors to feel them more fully, to offer more, to receive more. To know other than an endless array of padded feet, and paws, and nails, and droppings. Time, as always, set everything in place. Stone, learned how to pull what he needed from their Breath. That warm air held a little of everything from deep within each creature being that came to spend time with Stone.

Stone, also had to learn what all he gave out to all those who came to stand, and rub, and lie, and view from his great hump. A hump that rose out of the earth just enough, in such a way, in just the right spot. Sun's approach, Moon's setting, Winter's winds' trail, all could be seen.

Two Wolves, raise their heads high, and sing in the same deep vibration as Stone endlessly offered.