Wolves Don't Lie

By Judith Tracy

His beard was tangled,
And his boots were held together with strips of leather,
Leaning against his staff, tired and lonely,
Just waiting, watching, wondering.

Though, it's customary to welcome strangers,
All did little but stare.
So as keeper of my house, I spoke, and welcomed him,
To our huttle at the dismay of my father.
To eat at our table, to wash in the cool stream, and
To take comfort in our night fire.

My father frowned, the villagers turned their backs,
For even though wanderers were warmly greeted,
This man was shunned,
For he walked with wolves.

The food he ate heartily,
And the water washed away his travels,
But he refused shelter, sleeping on the village edge,
With his blanket of wolves for warmth.

I spoke the words of many tribes,
But his were unknown.
He said little, still I learned his ways,
But his wolves, they sang often.

I shied away, not from fear,
Not of the man, nor his companions.
His eyes were soft and smiles were constant,
And he never made a sudden move.

It was what I perceived in me when he was near.
I kept the distance,
And it was in the knowing of fate and future,
That held me back.

He learned enough to speak of what was needed,
And I learned all the rest.
We spoke of understanding,
Of twilight skies,
Of woodland springs and,
The ways of the wanderers.

There were some who said the wolves were his brothers,
But that is not so.
He was born of woman,
Sired by man,
And abandoned by his own,
Because he spoke with wolves.

And for many summer nights,
I listened to him talk of wondrous places,
Of distant worlds,
Of strange villages,
Of exciting adventures.

And when the frost bit the grass,
His eyes changed.
With grateful gestures,
He thanked all but me.
For his eyes said more than mere words,
But saddened to see him leave, I looked away.

And he was gone before the snow.
His absence brought on the wintry winds.
I knew he was born to wander.
His eyes had told me this.

I always knew he was safe,
For the wolves sang his song.
And though I could not understand the meaning,
I knew.

And in my thirteenth summer,
He came back.
I had spoken to my father of his return,
By the winter fire.

And he asked me how I knew,
Cause he did not want to know,
Or hear the answer…
I told him, "wolves don't lie".

The snow melted, the winds blew softly.
The land put on it's springtime coat of green.
Each day I walked to the woodlands,
And sat upon Bear Rock.

The golden orb would caress my face.
Its fingered rays were calming.
As patiently, I sat upon,
The rock, with knowing in my heart.

He showed no surprise to see me there,
Nor did his lips curl in greeting,
But his eyes spoke to me and said it all.
I stepped in time, to trail behind him.

He was taller now, and he smelled of man.
The leather satchel on his back was heavy.
My father stood before the entrance,
And I took my place by his side.

Furs of bear, beaver and red fox,
A rich man's bounty,
And all the men gathered around,
And waited for the wise man's answer.

But, it was I who spoke,
But not in words.
I stepped in place beside the man,
Not behind him as customary,
And left my childhood.

On the far side of the village,
By the lovely Whisper Tree,
He built a huttle,
Branch by branch, stone by stone.

His muscles rippled as I watched.
No help from me would he allow,
And others joined in silent acceptance,
To help welcome him to the family.

My meager meal was eaten by the light of moon.
His eyes sparkled by night fire,
And I gladly saw to his nourishment,
Sitting close by his bended knees.

I saw so much in his smile that night,
And waited for his manly touch,
For the women spoke of secret moments of men,
And the tribute paid to the mother.

He lay beside me, drew me close,
My back to front,
And I shivered at his sweet touch,
As his arm pulled me closer.

The wolves lay down,
To watch his back,
And they curled by my feet,
While the man closed his eyes and slept.

At first I felt relief.
The sparing of the pain the elders whispered,
But after many suns had passed,
I felt empty in my innocence.

Oh, I felt his hardness press my back,
And the desire burned within him,
And waited night by night with curiosity,
As the fire in me kindled.

Two moons…
He joined the hunts.
The work he did not shirk,
And the wolves stayed close, though he bade them stay.

And I busied in the womanly ways,
To make a home and a haven,
Warding off the world,
Creating our own.

The women knew I knew him not.
Their silent laughter,
Made anger grow,
For none saw the eyes of the man.

It was a rainy night, the mother's fingers lit the sky.
Her anger raged and shattered peace.
I drew close, burying my head in his fur,
And my body quivered while the wolves sang loudly.

His touch was gentle, fingers raking through my hair.
I held him close and he absorbed my fear,
And as I calmed, I drew him closer.
My spirit called to him through beating hearts.

I know not the moment when touch turned fire,
For I had felt him with me all the time,
And though his hands never roamed my body,
His being had explored all.

It was if there were not two, but one.
The mesh was tied, knotted.
Our bodies met with gluttony,
And for a while all that he was, he had, was mine.

And lost in each other,
I laid on his chest.
My cloak of innocence replaced,
With a gown of a purpose and core.

Nary a tear went unkissed
For his lips hungered
To comfort, to calm
To settle and to please.

The gift of knowing this passion,
Is a pointed one.
For never is the fire quenched.
It flickers always.

Whether it rages because of a touch, or a smile
Whether it burns brightly from a gesture, or a blink of an eye,
Or even from the sound of laughter,
Its ember's simmers.

And the women knew then.
Their stifled smiles covered,
For I could not hide the light of knowing.
The consummation of our souls.

We had little necessities.
We had more than others.
For our wealth surrounded us,
In the simplicity of our sharing.

I don't remember when the wolves accepted me.
One day they were cautious,
The next, they were under my feet,
And welcomed visitors.

The silver one, the one with blue eyes,
She took a walking with me,
And sleeping by my side.
We bonded in the closeness as she became my shadow.

The man seemed pleased,
For she would stay while the others followed,
And many were the times I felt,
He wanted it as such.

Every morning before the dew,
He'd rise and do his share.
With a gentle ruffling of my hair,
Or a whisper in my ear, he bid me bye.

More times than not,
I'd shoo him away,
With a swat of my hand,
And a giggle stifled softly.

But other times, with eyes a dancing,
I'd drag him down upon me,
And with sleep still clouding the morning,
We'd roll upon the soft, bear fur.

Many were the times,
I'd swim in clear blue water.
The sun straight high, my shadow girl a howling.
For she would not join the swim.

And there he'd be a hiding,
His eyes as warm as summer,
And we'd both be aware of each other,
For our hearts would beat in sync.

He'd run and grab,
Throw me high,
Listening to my soft laugh,
Before the fire flared again.

As happy as we were, lost in the finding of our souls,
Something shaded the light,
For time was lurking behind summer's radiance,
Each day was one day closer.

So when the painted leaves,
Took a rocking to the earth,
The quiet over came me,
For I stared at him and clung to each minute.

Though I never saw a glimmer,
Of that distant look deep inside, its presence walled,
But still he stayed just one more sun,
For I knew he couldn't bear my tears.

Selfishly I ignored the symptoms,
He played the innocent well,
And I knew he cloaked his yearnings,
So, we spoke little about the silent shouting.

But not the wolves…

They sang their song.
No longer soft and playful.
It was a painful plea to move on,
And grew louder with the changing winds.

All but Sheil, who stayed by my side,
Sharing the fear and the obvious.
She too would be left behind,
By choice of her love for me.

I could no longer ignore his needs,
I loved him more than my life.
And though his absence would bring darkness,
My love for him would sustain me.

One morning, I packed his belongings,
Along with my heart and soul.
He saw the satchel and looked upon,
The true meaning of my love.

I bit my tongue and shielded the tears,
For no pain would I cause him,
But he knew and saw inside me,
Drawing me close to his rigid body.

I heard his heart beating…
His tears, no longer a stranger to his eyes,
And for a moment, I thought he would stay,
Was not so, just wanted it to be.

It was I who gathered the strength,
To break the embrace of parting,
And watched as he summoned his companions,
And died when he walked out the door.

I did not call him back.
I did not bid him goodbye.
I did not speak at all.
I did not tell him of his son.

The image faded in the glare of the sun.
My tears blurring, as the figure shrank in the distance,
For hours I stood motionless, breathless.
My heart given freely, left here an empty space.

I did not move back into my father's home,
Wanting the smell of the man to surround me.
And when the winter winds whistled,
I heard the wolves sing.

The sound pierced the icy air,
Traveling through time and eternity.
Even his son stood still in the womb,
Hearing the apology, the finality, the end.

The wolves song was a tormented song.
I heard the pain and the deprivation.
My heart, drowned, beating on the great water's floor,
Lying next to the house that sheltered it.

His spirit came to comfort me.
I welcomed it.
And no one but my faithful friend and I,
Knew that death comes in pairs.

When spring brought life to barren trees,
So I brought forth life to the memory.
In my arms I nursed our creation, our son,
With eyes of clear pool waters, a mirror of the man.

That summer the wolves returned.
I heard the emptiness in their song,
And welcomed them in,
To the home of the man.

My son delighted in their playful ways.
The villagers gaped in awe,
As my son grew to man,
And he walked with wolves.

Through stone and cement,
Steel girders, paved streets,
Endless days of work and paychecks,
Eating, sleeping and starting again.
The man who walked with wolves,
Hangs on my wall.
A great artist had captured a moment,
And an extraordinary spirit,
Whose human form loved a woman greatly.
The painter knew not what he had painted.
Compelled by the vibrations of two hearts,
Their spirit moved his hand,
And captured all on canvas.
But to me…just me, this is more than a vision.
For I am she, in the rebirth and in spirit.
I have felt the stirrings of another soul just awakening,
And know an eternity of waiting is over.
I recognize this in my heart.
I sense this in the wind.
I hear, I listen.
I know…the man who walked with wolves is coming home.
Wolves don't lie

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