The Moon Brings Her Alive
Every night the moon would shine,
and she would come alive.
The breeze would blow the clouds
away, she stops, drawn to the
moon like a lover whose been
gone so long she almost forgot.
She is in love with the moon
and how it makes her feel.
Sitting, rocking, waiting for
the full moon to come over
the mountains, to give her
energy she can't explain.
Her hair stands on end as
the sun goes down, her
breathing quickens, her heart
races. Like a teenager on her
first date she waits until
she's ready to explode. her
fingernails grow to points, two
then three inches long, extending
her elongating fingers and toes.
She leaves the chair, fearful
she will break her grandmother's
prize piece, and land softly
on all fours in the dirt
below the porch steps.
Her arched back cracks to
life, producing a beautiful
sheen soon covered by
graying hair, then fur.
Warmth in the winter cold
in the Rockies. Grandma's
cabin had been here for
generations passed down as
a safe haven for those who
need a place to change at
full moon. Her clothes were
piled neatly on the porch,
awaiting her return in the
morning. She did not need a
man to define her, she was
a lone wolf, in love with
the moon. But, she was the last,
and tonight she must ensure
the line goes on. She trotted into
the woods, the quietest, most
beautiful wolf in the land.
|