Although 200 feet probably separate myself from the wolf, I can see every detail. His four toes lift silently from the snow, take a majestic step then return themselves to their resting position in one continuous rhythm. Each foot leaves a scar in the never ending white snow. Jet black legs lead to a silver-gray back standing as high as my chest. His tail, curled high above his back, signals to everyone his dignity and confidence.
Attentive ears point to the tree tops, quivering at every break in the silence.
The source of my reverence is his head. I can feel his eyes peering into mine as he turns to look at me. The mountains are no longer mountains. They are looming keepers of life and death and everything in between, and the trees hush their chattering inhabitants while his eyes peer in their direction. Through his great grandfather's contribution to his gaze, I can see our own ancestors, with whom he shared this lake.