Howl

The first howl was a long slow moan that slid down deeply into the cold, moon-lit valley.

It rolled all the way to the other mountain and then echoed down through the valley.

Its answer came from a rocky crag high on the other side, a piercing scream thrown at the moon; but which rode easily through the dark fir forest, like a great savage beast chasing prey.

My next howl was higher than my first, and its answer came lower, and as the moon rose in the sky we filled the valley with sad songs of lament, me and my dream, as we remembered another time, another way, another world - and the wild, free spirits we miss so deeply.

© John Womack, 2007. All rights reserved.