Black Dog On The Skyline

Black dog on the skyline ridge in the flat grey afternoon,

soundless in the hills going south.

Padfoot mimicking the walker on the gravel path

at the valley bottom.

Who owns the uncalled for hound that prowls and watches,

mouth open and teeth bare,

staring down something unseen as well

on the other side of the barren hill?

Stillness, apart from the man's progress,

a day's walk to escape himself,

and the disturbed scree, mining waste left 

over from the animal's patrol above.

Ahead there is a village with the hope of company

and rest,

but this naked stretch between proper places 

is unsheltered and unclean.

Black dog there, neither retreating nor advancing,

the shadow dance of man on the sky light ridge.