Monday. Brown-furred wolf runs south to north in front of my car. His legs pump, his haunches strain. Masterful, he sprints, his legs sure, not slipping and skidding like those long skinny-legged deer who sometimes fall and splay all four legs as they attempt to gain traction on ice. Solid, purposeful, the wolf crosses snow-covered asphalt, his eyes staring straight ahead, almost oblivious to the barreling car. He darts into the woods, immediately in a grove of evergreens, concealed in plain sight.
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Who is Lake Superior Spirit anyway (and does she have other blogs?)
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