Listen to the wolf. Do you hear what it’s saying? Can you hear the loneliness and the longing? No, really listen. Do you hear it? In its howls it is singing a song, a song to the Moon.
The Moon is for wanting. The Moon is for longing. The wolf knows. Look at her up there, so beautiful but always out of reach. She’s like a long dead lover. She still tugs on your heart but you can feel no warmth from her touch. But then, the sun may touch you with his hot fingers, but he can also burn and torture. You don’t have to worry about being burned by that dead lover, the Moon.
And yet she is so alive, so much in the present, the keeper of time. Her silver fingers tickle your upturned face, her serene beauty tickles your upturned heart. She is always there for you, smiling down for you and you alone. Continue reading