What is Art?
"Mother, what is art?" asked three young wolf pups, bounding up to their mother.
"follow me," she stood, walking over to a bush, picking off some bright red berries.
She brought her paw down on the pile of berries, squishing it into a thick paste.
She pressed her paw against the cave wall, leaving a bright and distinct imprint.
"When we step on the berries dropped by the birds, or on the berries in the brush and get the juice on our paws, the tracks we leave behind are art."
The eldest pup jumped into the puddle, covering his paws in the juice. He pressed his paws against the wall, smearing his print.
The mother threw back her head, letting her song fill the cave.
"When we sing our songs to the sky, that is art."
The youngest flung her head back, releasing her raucous howl to the stars above.
The mother spotted a young rabbit, and stalked it for a moment before pouncing on it. She released it, watching it bound away.
"When we do the wolf dances, our hunts, that is art."
The middle aged pup crouched to the ground, stalking a butterfly that flew above its head.
The mother sat back on her haunches, watching her pups howl, paint, and hunt. "And that, my children, is art.