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The dream, oh the dream. Tawny brush and slender oak, passing beyond my field of vision. My white paws dancing upon earth, where the dirt was sifting between my digits. Lost, lost, oh where is the river? The farther I go, the more I quiver. A forest around me, a sea of timber. But where oh where is that river? Water upon the sandy shoal would ebb and sometimes overflow, taking with it the sediment that, at times looked like dirty snow. My mouth is watering, my muzzle frothy. The weight of the run somewhat haltering. My mind at times is barely sauntering, wishing more for that watery brook. Finally the murmur starts, and my eyes begin to jump and dart. That lovey sound I begin to hear, somewhat like a tiny harp. I yip and stammer in happy glamour, but am not heard, over of a willow's banter. I've found my river, oh my brook. Happy little shimmering crook. I take my spot over the water, and dive right in without totter.

It's a dream I used to have of me being a wolf, lost in a forest, trying to find a river on a hot day =3 Usually after this I'd get up and get a glass of water.