It had been warm the last two nights, and rain had fallen. The intoxicating smell of wet grass and evergreens still hung in the air, like heavy incense. The park was silent and deserted except for a small brook that ran alongside the walkway. The echo of my heavy footsteps made me feel out of place, in the serene splendor of it all.

And then I heard it… it began softly, then crescendoed into a wail that froze my heart and made me stop in my tracks.

For awhile I just stood, transfixed, the cold wind struggling to steal away the little body heat I had left. I closed my eyes and my thoughts drifted out, seeking to trace the sound to its source. Searching desperately for that inhuman voice that echoed my feelings so perfectly.

I then noticed a slight change in the eerie melody… no longer did it sound of solitude. Another wolf had joined the first. Together they sang their duet, complete now that they had found each other. Time seemed to stretch into eternity, as I listened longingly… the cold long forgotten.

And based on that inspirational moment, this poem was written.

THE WOLVES

The water is speckled with the moon's pale light, Its surface illuminated in the shadowy night, A cry of a wolf is all that's perceived, With the sway of the branches on the chill winter breeze.

How my heart yearns to join in the their song, To release the loneliness, held in for so long. If the moon could but lift this pain from my heart, Then my sorrow and I could finally part.

As the moon finishes its path through the starlight sky, And a lonesome wolf, in the mountains does cry, The sound of another can be heard on the wind, A serenade formed as they sing to the end...

Afterthought: This entire experience gave me a "deep thought" (yes, it hurt!). We are never alone so long as the wind carries our words to those who take the time to listen.