06/16/2026
She came from the woods, with no intention of being known.
Just movement at the edge of the pasture,
a shadow slipping between barn and trees,
choosing the night near the other animals and the morning return to the wild as soon as we’d stir.
She learned the our land before we arrived.
She’d stay close enough to visit. Never close enough to touch.
Even when she stayed longer, she stayed untamed, watching life from a careful distance, gone the moment she felt seen.
And then the rain came, softening the lines she had drawn for herself.
She went where shelter made sense,
and for the first time, the world didn’t move fast enough for her to slip through it.
Not tamed. Not changed.
Just… here, for now.
I call her Lark.
