In the indigo essence of Wolf Moon, our touring skis creaked and buzzed in temperatures that turned snow flakes to ice crystals. Through the towering trees, the moon's pale glow banded the trail with ghostly light. Stars pricked the quilt of heaven. What was beyond our night vision lay in unknowable darkness. My heart beat in time to the night's song. I listened for coyotes' howls, maybe gathering for the hunt, but their tracks were our only (known) company. Perhaps they stood in the shadows, hackles rising, watching the strange creatures gliding in moonbeams through their territory.
I'm observing carefully for January's