By Eva Dias Costa in Lessons in the Quiet — 27 Jul 2025

Fugue for an Old Hunter in Scent Major

– Bach, for two noses, one constant presence.

I. (Doof)
Nose low.
Step silent.
The scent begins shallow –
he slows.
Left paw
tests a patch of dry.
There was a bird,
not long.
He turns
before the wind does.
Ribs tighten
around the breath
that hasn’t changed.
Something worth knowing
in the grass.
Enough.

II. (Sig)
Behind him:
paws louder.
Sig enters wrong,
but enters.
He takes the path
Doof didn’t.
Sniffs a stone,
believes it useful.
Pauses –
unsure why Doof doesn’t wait.
Sniffs again,
hoping for meaning.
Moves through.
Doof does not stop.
Each time,
he hears him –
folded into the pattern.

III. (Interesting Others)
A rabbit freezes
at the wrong time.
A wing lifts
without care.
He waits.
Already certain.
A scent crosses the old one –
sharp, recent, left behind.
A young deer.
Still damp.
Then –
something else.
No chase in it.
No stillness either.
An unfielded scent.
Unplaceable.
He marks it.
Moves on.

IV. (She)
Boot behind.
Breath regular.
She is presence
without ask.
Known
without sound.
She is the shape
the field allows.
He does not turn.
But he shifts –
a line drawn
to hold her
just inside
what matters.
A kestrel pauses,
too low.
Then lifts again.
Sig barks.
Ignored.
The wind changes.
He does not.

V. (Doof)
Nose low.
Step sharper.
The trail is older now,
but clearer.
He pauses.
Takes air through the side.
Another layer,
beneath the layer.
The field is full.
He moves inside it.
Same scent.
Different rhythm.
He begins again.
She touches his flank.
He shifts –
then forgets.