The smiling moon

Some ancients believed the sky to be a living, breathing being. It is true, that on some nights, the sky seems to be a resting giant, its chest slowly expanding and contracting; while its whole body undulates in painful ecstasy. On other nights, those seemingly quiet nights, if you truly listen, you can hear the sky sing. The whole starry panorama looks like a giant instrument; maybe a piano. On either occasion the moon is the seat; of both intelligence and emotion. If there is music in the sky, it is the moon that is singing.

On these nights, the moon calls to us. Our ancients listened and some of us still do. But more often than not, it is only the tides that answer, the tides and all creatures canine, especially wolves. And they sing back. If you listen closely to the tides, and yes, to the wolves, it becomes clear that all nights are not similar. Some nights the moon laments, for sins forgotten and carnage unknown and the tides weep. These cold dark nights are to be rejoiced. On some other nights, the moon exults and the wolves howl in joy, for blood and gore and killing. These are the nights, Oh! when our moon calls out its song; its song for the dead, beautiful yet dripping with dread. The warm peaceful nights.

Tonight the wolves are expectant and the tides gather up their strength. Tonight the moon is smiling..