Sunday, March 25, 2007

Timberwolf

Created as a writing exercise.

I got lost, savoring the chill of winter on my tongue and the freshly falling snow. The iron in the spring thaw water, bubbling and laughing over the rocks and underneath the moon, that washes away the coppery metallic taste of the hunt.

It’s one of those nights. Those beautiful nights when the world is all the shades of grey, but the mountains seem touched by blue. It’s impossible, but it’s there. Silence so thick it can be felt hangs over the merry brook and presses against my body. When the heart is the loudest noise—it shakes within my rib cage, until my very veins shiver from the rush of blood.

The ground is cold, snow-covered. I feel it between my toes, the last vestiges of winter struggling to reclaim territory from spring.

Spring tastes like life and blood, and the cold, cold water that washes away the beast. But in my reflection, those timberwolf eyes remain.

Lick your lips, and you can taste the beast. Breathe in, and you’ll feel it press against your skin—on the inside, desperate to get out.

I feel it, too.

1 comment:

Rachel said...

I like that one.