What Moves In The Dark

For two springs, my dog Juniper has traded a bone back and forth with a coyote neither of us has ever seen up close. It's a small, wordless negotiation between a domesticated wolf and a wild one. But it's also where I found language for something harder to hold: the grief of a baby I haven't had, and the strange truth that no self, no longing, and no loss exists independently of everything else.