Circular Tides

Lone Wolf

Snow settles on stalwart firs,
Winter’s quietness, envelops the trees.
A solitary shape, a grayish blur,
On the pristine white, moves with ease.

The nostrils flare, ears twitch,
Dark eyes gaze towards the east.
Blood courses with the innate itch,
Felt alike by man and beast.

Distantly, he hears the pack,
Ululations on an icy wind.
Kith and kin, safe from attack,
Yet he remains, apart from them.

Driven by a night song few can hear,
Under moonlight, he prowls alone.
The air full of odors, fresh and clear,
Paws find traction on granite stone.

He tilts his head, then a long, haunting howl,
Hangs in the air for mule deer to fear.
High in the branches, a watchful owl,
Surveys the scene, a predatory peer.

Orion hunts in the star-lit sky,
His jeweled belt aglow.
The wolf stalks on, with a wary eye,
To distinguish friend from foe.