Wolves

The air is damp and humid.
The blue sky is stained bright colors,
rose pink,
summer orange,
blood red.
Night is approaching,
a dark cloak silently consuming the land.
The pale moon is a shining contrast in the darkening sky,
so plain,
yet so elegant.
When night falls,
I am with my pack again.
I am loved,
all of the troubles of my human life forgotten.
My slim human form gives way,
revealing a lithe black wolf,
with green eyes.
I streak through the forest,
invisible except for my green eyes.
Our howls echo through the air,
each voice and note special,
intertwining in the air,
dancing above the lands,
a well-strung tribute to the pale moon.
Far from danger,
under the light of the full moon,
we are free.
We are wild.
We are wolves.