No Memory of Moonlight

Black paws raced across the dry earth, the wolf’s blood pounding in his ears. It was early fall, the Indian Summer. That last moment when the vibrant purples of the tall ironweed dominated the landscape, interspersed by the last yellow Goldenrod’s final flush before winter.

They parted as he ran. Wrath, the black wolf with the grizzled white muzzle, and eyes that burned like twin suns. Alpha of his pack. A wolf that felt no fear. A wolf that held his ground. A wolf that garnered respect from all, yet today he ran through the thickets of locust. The tangles of blackberries, and down the heavily used deer trails shrouded in deep green. He knew them all, as he was in his neck of the woods.

Today, though, his thoughts were muddled. He knew that something profound had happened to him. Yet his canine mind struggled to understand. His need to feel comfort and be with his loved ones overtook him. He ran against all caution across Route 39, barely missed by a speeding car. He did not stop as the vehicle swerved to miss him, and the driver pulled up, so sure he had encountered an animal ‘that was not from these parts.’

He disappeared into a creek bed. He was close to home. Just a short lope up the one-lane road where cars barely traveled. He hugged the creek and the thick string of trees that grew unkempt and broken by the water’s edge.

Finally, he glimpsed the familiar driveway that wound its way up the steep hill. He was home, and his guard dropped, and his fur no longer bristled. He had to find her, his life mate Kallowyn, Luna of his pack.