Each day I brush my dogs in the same quiet place. Their fur is not waste — it is offering.
I leave it where the small ones travel. Soon there are squirrel tracks. Then birds. Then fewer strands upon the ground.
When I returned the next morning, all of it was gone.
In the old way, nothing is discarded. What comes from the animal returns to the land. What is given is taken, and what is taken is woven into another life.
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