To all the lonely lone wolves

Sometimes I just get a little misty.

"It's not easy being me any more than it's easy being you." 

So you are hearing pearls of wisdom directly from the gentle heart of the leader of the pack. The old wolf's wisdom, the great white elder, transferred by thought transfer and wobbly eye contact. Transfigured and in the slow glow of the power from the eternal life in all animal spirits that stalk the earth and battle to keep it safe and wholesome.

 

The wild is something to savor and difficult for the dulled and detuned human mind to grasp. Like a fine wine on the top shelf or even a not so fine £6.50 plonk with an appealing label, both can be effective but why pay a greater price? What the wolf says or even suggests, goes (and sometimes what the wolf says stays and sometimes the wolf doesn't really say anything; that would be the unreliable, flakey but interesting thought transfer concept thing mentioned earlier). Oh, and please don't mention the moon. The pale orb of nightly pain.

So you'd all do well not to ignore wolfy wisdom however it may be communicated. They are like the ancient forest spirits that live within the trees and branches, except they are animals and not made of wood or squiggly, smoky, spirit kind of ectoplasm stuff, just wolf meat, bones and fur. The one in the photo above is living it up, having the best life in South Queensferry right now with his best friend a tennis ball, albeit always behind bars. 

Given the chance though he'd go straight for that soft, fleshy, narrow throat of yours. I'd wear a thick scarf if I was you.