canis lupus antarcticus, 2024

rendering of a dreamscape#25.
...
The deep snow a blanket I’m encircled by mountains. Ahead, behind. Left, right. The clear Atlantic-green sky is deep with a tinge of blue. Twilight hour. A high moon is untouched by the swift breeze whipping white powder off the slopes. So thick. Each step sinks me to my knee. Walking is hard but I continue. The shoulder of my coat is spattered with blood. I don't know from where, only that it's not mine. Something in the distance is moving. Not just one, but a number of figures. Not human. Animal. An eternity passes. Finally. I’m now close enough to make them out. Dingoes? All around. More than one but less than a dozen. Not whole either. The poor beasts are sliced neatly in two as if guillotined at the belly. They are not in pain. They don't whimper, only sit there watching me on their front haunches. Tongues hanging out they drag themselves in stupid circles, going nowhere. It doesn't make sense. Why are they in half? Where are their hind quarters? Why are they still alive? In the distance is a cabin. A lone structure in the white wilderness. Dangling coloured lights from the eaves flash on and off. I pick one of the dingoes up and walk. Another hundred yards and I'll have shelter from the cold. It is then that I see movement inside.