Brushing The Old Yellow Lab by Pippa Little She is grainy cornfields I remember up beyond our house, glowing on the hillsides I never reached through late summer sunsets: long shadows in slow burn, that longing to be somewhere else where my life could begin. So much faster than I expected, here I am, mothering a dog in our middle-age who slips out of herself, supple as thistledown every season, almost-white chaff lifting in tufts, for whom love is this wordless touch, the weight of my hands. I plough shadows in and smooth them out, remembering light pollen-sticky on my skin, waiting for that sensed world to come. Not how I thought it would be or enough, yet warm, rough, loose, more than I needed. Editors’ Note: Brushing the Old Yellow Lab was previously published in The Stockholm Review, Issue 12014-08-22. We are pleased to republish it here. Gyroscope Review 27 !