Between a sentinel of trees, in the deepest of twilight an image lurks down moon lit path. A chill in the air ruffles thick fur. He is alone. Each step leaves paw prints in the dirt as evidence of his presence, under a dangling moon. He finds a knoll. There he sits waiting as time ticks slowly by until the moon, a blood moon, ascends to its highest point in the autumn sky.
When no one listens, howling wolf calls to another, as blood moon rises.
It is a myth that wolves howl at a full moon. They howl to communicate at anytime. It is thought people noticed their howling more during a full moon, because extra light brings people out at nighttime. We do a lot of howling in our house even on moonless nights!
It is often I scamper to the woods to wash my thoughts of day. Beneath the forest crown, upon the threshing floor, and within the arms of watchful limbs I plunge sure-footed down wooded lane. Breathe in the mollify melody of birds among the trees. Feel the ease of earth between my toes. Inhale the woodsy scents of bud and rot. All enhance my taste of what lies beyond each winding bend.
It need not be swells of spring where sticky cobweb clings to hair. Nor sultry summer day as broad leaves waltz in wind. I anticipate the warmth of autumn’s glow, its blush bittersweet hues. Winter is when true forest cleansing scrubs from head to toe. Like icing on a cake, the trees are dressed in white. I sense a deeper purging… a pouring out of now and then.
cling to crusty bark woes settled on thin shoulders Refreshing forest
I had no idea all these years I’ve been ‘forest bathing’. Stop over at dVerse to see what it’s all about. “Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.” Psalm 51:7.