At that point in my life, those were things I needed. Wolves are strong and protective, and they have strong familiar bonds. That wolf came to me in a time that I needed him. Something really was there to help me, and no matter what it was, I welcomed it. Not an evil or creepy spirit, wandering sad and lonely, but the spirit of something comforting. To this day, no matter what else I believe, or what people tell me, I am sure that I saw a spirit that night. A sense of comfort and security came over me, as well as a surety that, for the first time in my life, I had seen a spirit. The wolf continued to howl as the village slept, and he seemed much more like he was protecting them than threatening. Though it seemed as if everyone was asleep, smoke rose from the little huts and it seemed like a place of warmth and safety. A snug little village was settled there, like the ones of Native Americans and other natural peoples. After a few moments, the focus switched from the wolf to the valley below it. It was the most magnificent scene I had ever seen and I stared eagerly. Though I couldn't actually hear it's howls, it was easy enough to imagine and still exceptional to watch. The image was of a wolf, huge, grey and furry, standing on a small grassy hill.Īs I watched, the magnificent creature lifted it's head and howled at the largest, brightest moon I had ever seen, far superior to the one that was currently outside my window.
At first it was blurry and unfocused, but it slowly became clearer while the blue circle continued to spin, quicker and quicker. As the ring spun and spun, an image began to materialize within it's center. It was about three inches in diameter, though I had no sense of geometry at that point. But, as I settled them into place, I noticed that a change had come over my familiar curtains.Īt first all there was was a swirling blue circle on the fabric, almost like the kind that spins when your computer is slow but more fluid seeming and somehow sparkling. I gazed through the glass for several minutes until, satisfied, I pulled the heavy curtains back across the pane. Outside, the dark stretched much farther, but gleaming rays of the moon penetrated even the most remote corner.
Moon village wolf windows#
Like most children, I had a natural fear of windows and the creepy creatures that could be lurking right outside of them or, even worse, peering in. Curious to see the wondrous night outside of my small room, I pulled my curtains aside, clutching my little velvet puppy for bravery. I was rarely awake at that time of night, and it's calm beauty seemed very special. This particular night, the sadness had dulled in my peaceful sleep, and instead I felt curious. Not that my life wasn't great, or that my mom wasn't extraordinarily wonderful, but some things are more difficult for young children, and it was a hard time for me. Now that I slept alone none of that was possible, and I would suffer fear and overpowering loneliness every night.
That way, when I was cold I could borrow the warmth of their bodies and when I was scared I could snuggle up close to them and be instantly comforted and protected. As a four year old I still had an intense fear of the dark, and an even worse fear of sleeping alone.īefore we had moved in with my mom's boyfriend, I had always shared a bed with at least one of my parents. They were old fashioned, and rather terrifying, especially in the shadows of the night. The girl I shared the room with, somehow I can't recall her name, was staying with her mom that night, but her dolls were sleeping in her place instead. What exactly woke me, I'll never know, but maybe it was the spirits already moving around my room. I woke to the darkness of night, most the moonlight blocked out by my thick curtains. That story always reminded me of a story of my own, and one of my first memories. He dreamed of them too, several times, and knew they were helping us. But when he worried about me, he said that he would ask the ancient tribes and peoples of our home to protect me. The doctors told him I was close to death, but I don't believe I ever actually was, or I wouldn't be alive now.
My Papa used to tell me a story about when I was a baby. They've told me hundreds of stories in my life, usually about they're own lives, and then those same stories over and over again. Since I was tiny, being told stories has given be a wonderful tingling feeling up my back and through my head.
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