The dog’s bark came late in the night along with a motor’s whir and the hum of my computer into a night’s old age. The trees crackled in the fallen leaves on the floor with dog foot,a tail wagging in the wind, afraid of night’s loneliness. Its flies were yet to wake in smallness.Two wheels went about their business spurred on by a station going for train.
The bark will come back later in the day when the sun will go about its business and men will drink morning coffee to read newspapers about deaths and politics ,rice and bullion ,while emptying pockets of night’s air , of a dog’s lonely bark. The bark will then chase shadows of cars.