“Nipper”
A small dog waits beside the brass horn,
ears lifted, body held in that soft readiness
only devotion can teach.
Once a wanderer,
he learned the shape of shelter
in the warmth of a single voice.
Cold metal greets him now.
The horn’s rim carries a faint scent of oil,
and his wet nose taps it once—
a quiet, searching touch.
He shifts closer.
A breath from the room brushes the brass,
leaving a faint linger in the air…
then stillness.
Brush in hand, the painter works again,
colours deepening around the small dog’s frame.
A memory stirs—
not pictured,
but alive in the way he angles his head,
as though a call once given
might find its way back through the metal.
A pause.
Just the soft lift of his ears,
steady as the moment before a word.
Nothing else moves.
Only the sense that something—
almost—
might cross the space between them…
…and the breath might rise again.
Wonderful write. Vivid and truly engrossing. Well done.
Thank you Styxian. Most appreciated 🙏🏻🕊️
You showed what you were thinking about so well. Really good
Thank you so much, dear Fía🙏🏻🕊️