A Picture of a Wolf

The moon rises higher, through the sky, Beneath the blanket the night provides There lies one soul, a human, alone Making camp in a clearing lit by the moon He makes a fire, sets up a tent Starts to cook his food, to soon eat He then takes out a camera, and looks around To take pictures of this peaceful place

A deer has been captured on film, forevermore A bird flitting away to its nighttime nest A rabbit hopping through the green bushes But the man wants something more Something he has yet to see with his own eyes A wolf, he wants, a picture of a wolf Beautiful and proud, to be seen on film He wants to do it himself, not happy otherwise So he waits, hoping to come across a wolf

The moon moves on its arc in the sky, Time clicks on, and still the man waits Never losing faith, still waiting there Fire has long gone out, food long since eaten Camera held in waiting hands, quiet eyes searching He waited until the sky became soft pink The moon had vanished, the stars were fading The sun was coming; the man admitted defeat And he started to pack up, to leave

Suddenly, ahead of him there was a form, It appeared with silence, like a ghost, It was no more than a few feet away The man looked in awe, becoming still, He didn't want to scare it away, so he stood It was a wolf, a female, her body a misty white She seemed ageless, majestic, wise Fur was wispy with beauty, like well-combed hair But her eyes were the strangest thing There were scars on her forehead, from a battle long past One streaked over her right eye, which was empty It was stark white, as if a pearl was in her forehead The other eye was like a sapphire, beautiful and sparkling She looked at him in reverent silence

The man stood there, taking in her beauty Like a beautiful ghost, a being from the mist She then moved on, paws walking in silence Her form seemed to disappear, melting into the air The man remained in awed silence He never took a picture of a wolf, of her But then again, now he didn't need to.

by Candida Barrett

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