My soul is a wolf, running over winter hills, traces in the snow, starlit;
aurora crowning me in green and gold and blue, ancient star-fire
– running with the storm, the clouds, towards a blood-red moon, dipped in gold and drops of silver,
running, running, breathing icy air, lungs on cold fire,
going, going, keep going, running through nights,
dark and starry velvet curtains parting like nowhere found in city walls, not anymore,
and the wolf keeps running.
Listening to Heather Dale while looking at pictures of beautiful stars, nebulae, and northern lights makes me feel my inner wolf again.