aj_paradiselost

I spent a bit of time in meditation this night, or morning, depending on how you want to percieve this fucking darkness out of doors and at this hour. Where was I........I'll tell you.
I must have been on the plain of some mountain because the sky was far fucking larger than I am used to seeing it. The snow was a bit above my knees. The strides I took were without effort. I was man, but I was wolf. Though I walked through such deep drifts I struggled not, nor suffered loss of breath through effort or high altitude.
I felt I should have been cold despite the hair that covered my body or maybe it was the knowledge that I still walked on two legs despite the half creature that I was. The wolf pack came over a rise and watched me. I stopped and watched them. I was unwilling to make the first step of wanting acceptance. I did not want to challenge the Alpha because I did not want to rule the pack, I was only half blood, nor did I feel like it was appropriate to taunt the Omega Wolf, and once again it was because I was only half.
As I stood in the high snow I could feel the wind at my back moving about the hair there. The sky was a nighttime sky and the silvery seemed to take up half of the sky. Then the pack howled. It was at that point that I understood the song. In the beginning thier howl was a howl of thanks. At some point maybe through instinct, maybe through something else they knew thier world was getting smaller. They expected and anticipated it. Yeah, in the beginning thier song was of thanks, food, warmth, family. Everything a pack had to offer, wonderfully nomadic, playfully restless.
The earlier settlers called the wolfs song a sad song as the songs merged praise and thankfulness into sadness as thier world shrank around them. How could others who lived beneath the same sky be unable to share with all life? But with that thought came pain as mankind showed through disease and pain that the only entity we could have respect and offerings for was death. We showed it by our ability to kill eachother. Yet the wolves are not as selfish as ourselves. When they cry they cry for the smokey sky, the senseless hunting of the animals they hunt only for food and not for the trophy of head or hide. They cry wanting to understand what punishment of nature deemed us worthy of being created, definately night something born of light. And though, if thier future is not completely wiped out. I will be one of them again. And though I may struggle to survive then as I do now, I would much rather be with my brothers and sisters of the four legs and fur. And maybe they cry for me...........L8er.