The Moon Brings Her Alive

Every night the moon would shine, and she would come alive. The breeze would blow the clouds away, she stops, drawn to the moon like a lover whose been gone so long she almost forgot. She is in love with the moon and how it makes her feel. Sitting, rocking, waiting for the full moon to come over the mountains, to give her energy she can't explain. Her hair stands on end as the sun goes down, her breathing quickens, her heart races. Like a teenager on her first date she waits until she's ready to explode. her fingernails grow to points, two then three inches long, extending her elongating fingers and toes. She leaves the chair, fearful she will break her grandmother's prize piece, and land softly on all fours in the dirt below the porch steps. Her arched back cracks to life, producing a beautiful sheen soon covered by graying hair, then fur. Warmth in the winter cold in the Rockies. Grandma's cabin had been here for generations passed down as a safe haven for those who need a place to change at full moon. Her clothes were piled neatly on the porch, awaiting her return in the morning. She did not need a man to define her, she was a lone wolf, in love with the moon. But, she was the last, and tonight she must ensure the line goes on. She trotted into the woods, the quietest, most beautiful wolf in the land.