The forest has a way to teach its own kind to survive
to desperately protect the most raw parts of themselves
to show teeth
not from anger
but from trauma that has been cut and engraved into unhealed scars on their skin.
There was a presence
in the underbrush.
I could see him move
coated with weighted layers of fur.
He wore it mysteriously
like a mask.
I watched him carefully from a distance.
Not out of fear
but because I value the wide space between a thorn and bloom.
He was not cruel.
He was cautious.
The kind that won’t mistake gentleness for innocence.
He trusted only a few
but protected his pact with suppressed intensity.
It was with him I realized
not all wolves howl.
Some just watch
from the darkest places
and have made the choice to not chase.
He will wait
tirelessly
until someone can understand the tongue of the forest
calmly sit beside him
and not be afraid.
PagesintheDark 