A nights ago was the first full moon of the year- the wolf moon. In Ireland it's a night of werewolves. In Alaska it's a night that howls are heard outside the village. The native's superstitions are there for a reason. My mother, a lover of... interesting facts, made me aware of the moon. I myself would have forgotten it's appearance. And the oddest part of all- that very night wolves were spotted in the village. Their tracks are still present on our streets. I sleep quite calmly in wolves presence. My bedroom is full of wolf pelts. My darling, on the other hand, is not so tranquil when faced with their howls. He seems to have nightmares ever since we moved the furs into the bedroom. I can't help but feel connected to them. I fear them and respect them. Most would say they're cruel- the way they kill is a devilish act. But I see them for intelligence and power. And because of my odd beliefs I feel when they are near I am at more peace with the world than ever. Like they give me this sense of confidence I don't otherwise behold. I sleep so solemnly on the nights when they are seen. And during the days they're prowling near I have a skip to my step that isn't any other time there.
