“And then there are the times when the wolves are silent and the moon is howling.” ― George Carlin
A full moon tonight as I walk alone. Very cool, the air crisp this late in the season. I didn’t notice the moon right away, musings of mind every bit as full as the moon shining down on me. Confusing thoughts, taken up with the insanity of life’s struggles! The moon seems to have it’s own agenda anyway, up there so high, aloft from everything happening down here.
Shivering, I pull my jacket tightly against my body. Don’t know what possessed me to walk down to the river in the first place. It’s even chillier near the water’s edge, but I could hear water lapping against the shore and it seemed improbably soothing. Does that sound crazy? And I’m very much tempted, drawn to the dark liquid. The need to touch, so strong. It won’t change my existence, still I scoop up the water in my hands, feeling velvety ice water threading through fingers.
Damn, everything feels futile tonight, an emptiness. The moon mocking my solo sojourn to the river, as if to echo meaningless feelings. A kneeling silhouette illuminated against rippling water proves my reality, at least. Fingers are frozen numb now, doesn’t matter. I can hear the moon, you see – it’s howling and I recognize the tune, having heard it before.
Acknowledging recognition, I walk home despite the taunting of a solitary moon. Impervious now, I’m entirely focused on rubbing hands together to get warmth back into them.just another night no winners, no losers – just life and the howling moon ~