The moon howler is not hungry; she seeks her pack. Snow tracks lead in circles under Luna's full embrace. Round and round, she circles, waiting for a familiar presence, but loneliness prevails. To no avail, she switches her matted tail, swatting the poisoning of Winter's bluster that insists on entangling her spirit.
Fading paw prints delude her keenest insight; North shivers when South sweeps whiteout of beasts' natural markings. Sniffing, grunting, and ghost-eyes stares are her only remedy; unhaunted, she continues hunting. Her long howl, slowly rising and falling, matches the wind's stifling moan, rippling across mountain peaks.
In the nearby distance, Snowy Owl screeches in protest, making swooping passes with his cat's eye glare.
Unaffected by the bird of prey, the Moon Mistress continues. Pacing, sniffing out wisdom buried in snow drifts, she smells a shift in the weather. A single purple petal peeks out from ivory layers, but she oversteps. Intuition speaks and she walks.
Dawn calls, Moon greets Sun, and Shadow's secrets no longer play. Howling ceases as four-legged friends approach. Huddles deflect wind whistles to silence. Sun dancing reflects crystal gems frozen in wild spaces. Never furrowed, only fur-bound kindling, the warmth of breaking day strengthens pack existence.
The nearby protestor, still glaring, makes a final pass, releasing violet flowers caught in his clenches from area scavenging.
Wolfmates, blink, not ill-affected. Winter's bane dwindles as Spring's arrival laughs during intermittent snow squalls. Preserved, separation cured, primal howling; they are not hungry. Ingested instincts, they've already eaten.
About the Creator
Marilyn Glover
Poet, writer, & editor, writing to uplift humanity. A Spiritual person who practices Reiki and finds inspiration in nature.
Mother of four, grandmother of two, British American dual citizen living in the States
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Comments (2)
Nice job! 👍
Very nicely put at the end