"Trees remember wolves. The oldest pines, the three- and four-hundred year-olds, know the brush of wolf fur, the soft, deeo slap of their footfall on the forest tfloor. They hand down the sense of wolves to the wolfless generations of young trees, and these grow older remembering the sense of wolves so that they are ready for the wolves' return, which they know to be inevitable... The old trees still remember the touch of wolf skin on tree skin, still long for it." - Jim Crumley
Walking in the hills today and howling into the wind. Becoming feral, wild and relishing the feeling of being free.
Howling.... That was good! The weather was wild on the hills, and it was definitely a day for being a wolf. I dreamed that the noise was carried over into Edinburgh and the people were clutching their hearts for fear that the wildness had returned. The primal fear returned and it sent the people into a frenzy. The frenzy possibly being like that scene in 'Poison' by Patrick Suskind. Or possibly a frenzy which eventually resulted in the wolf returning, because the sound brought back the peoples' previous passions and emotions and suddenly, suddenly those people were ALIVE! And they were howling too, howling with pity about our world and the pain and the stress we humans are causing. Perhaps the futility of living-to-work hit them, along with ancient memories of hunting and being hunted, and all of a sudden - upon hearing that wild wolf call - the entire population of Scotland's capital city come to a vicious understanding that change is coming and turning the direction of their feet to take them to the change; became the change and made the change come.
Maybe. Or maybe the wind just whipped the sound out of our throats, and it was lost forever. Lost apart from in our hearts and our souls. I shall keep thinking that if a wolf did ever stroll into Edinburgh the people would feel as Aldo Leopold did and know that the wolf was part of our world, and part of our country and by its absence we are less than we should be.
“We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then and have known ever since that there was something new to me in those eyes, something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters’ paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.” - Aldo Leopold