Is that the moon? Am I a werewolf yet? It blinks Morse code at me through the trees, quietly shouting run run run run.
It's only half-full. I can't be yet.
But soon.
I had a teacher once who said her moods changed with the phases of the moon. But she was also a witch. Or at least she was New Age. She always smelled like incense and she walked like she was more comfortable on a broom. She would pull the wind behind her when she walked. And she had this tender way of speaking, like she could put you in a trance.
But now I see it--the moon, that is--and the clouds are moving, shifting. When they part like that--like smoke in front of a mirror--or when I see the moon in the blue sky between tree branches or reflected in water, something in me aches for werewolves to be real. My throat wants for snow and paw prints and fur and that woodsy, coppery smell that follows a wolf.
Have you ever heard of otherkin? They're people who believe they were an animal or mythical creature in a past life. Most otherkin say they were a wolf before; I've heard some say they were once a dragon. It's mostly an excuse for people to wear thick black eyeliner and yellow contacts and to howl at the moon in their backyards. But a lot of them say they can feel their wolf ears or tail like a phantom limb. How sad to have lost something you never had, but to still feel its presence. To know that no one else can feel or see what you do. Isn't that some definition of insanity?
