Hour of the Wolf

By Erin Donahoe

Life is lonely
most of the time
I hide behind
a drab suit,
a mousy haircut,
spurning notice.
I can't let anyone
come too near--
I must protect
my secret.
I go, late at night,
to the clearing in the woodland.
I watch the stars travel
through the wind tossed branches.
I wait.
I hear the night noises
of the animals and the insects.
And I wait.
I smell the earthy scent of moss and loam
and the warm scent of prey as my time comes nearer.
Finally the moon comes out of her burrow--
I can't see her, but I sense her--
And I give chase, swift on four feet.
I howl at the joy of finally being released.
A myriad of voices in the night give me answer.
I am no longer alone.

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