Submissions by TheHowlinWolf

It is winter at Jackson Hole ski resort, Wyoming. A plume of breath dissipates in front of me, my hands are cold, a cold that creates a deep ache under my fingernails. White dove feathers of snow flutter in the frosty breeze. The pine-forested mountain is a feast of mashed potatoes dotted with peas.

Listen. A lingering silence resides, broken now by the distant bugling of Elk on the valley floor below. The wise Elk choose not to brave the bitter cold of the mountains, seeking respite along the similarly snow covered valley floor. Off to the right a pine tree snaps under the...

A land of lies, a system of rules
Threats beneath threats, throngs of fools
I seek solace in that which lies beyond,
as inside myself I’ve withdrawn
Oh how i long for the tenderness of wolves.