The new moon last night, low cloud, everything held its breath. Drove home at two in the morning after a sixteen-hour labour, the road silver-grey with frost, trees leaning in like they were listening. The baby latched within minutes, no lights on, just the stove glowing and the mother humming — that quiet kind of victory you don’t talk about, just carry. Saw fresh wolf tracks near the clinic gate this morning. People worry about wolves. I worry about ambulances that can’t make it through snow when the funding’s cut for winter ploughs. The wild parts keep reminding us who’s really in charge.
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