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The Sanctuary
...for Little JoNellaNight had once again settled over the hidden valley, and the shimmering, shifting veils of the Aurora Borealis casts soft pastel hues over the forest, meadows, and streams...
...On a snow-covered and windswept ridge high above the valley, a large battle-scarred old wolf stands; piercing and deep yellow eyes alertly scanning the frozen wastelands that surrounded the valley, looking for any lost and wounded who managed to escape the dismal swamps far away, following the haunting and peaceful soul-song of the valley below... And this night, there were none... but deep within him, he knew they would come... if not this night, then another...
Turning, his back to the chill winds, the old wolf looks over the valley, noting the myriad candles and campfires, hearing wisps of soft conversation as the dwellers share their love and support for each other... and he smiles...
One by one, the candles and campfires go out as creatures large and small stretch, yawn... and nestle in their nests and dens... drifting off into deep, peaceful slumber... and in the quiet darkness of the night, he hears a child softly crying... Ears forward, the wolf quickly leaves the ridge, bounding from rock to log, over small streams, silent and swift... following the heart-rending and nearly silent cries...
...the miles melt rapidly beneath his form as the moon starts to peek above the mountains behind him... and the moon emerges full and majestic over the valley as the wolf reaches a familiar clearing, moonbeams softly lighting the quiet sobbing form of a small Lady, a little Lady... crying out her heart by a dead campfire...
The old wolf slows to a quiet walk and approaches... noting that the grass around the campfire is untouched, still tall... for no one had shared the campfire with the Little One.... here and there, indentations reveal where some had come, spoken a while... but also reveal that none had stayed, leaving the little one alone in the night... alone... ...alone in her pain and sorrow...
...and the wolf notes the picnic basket and soft blanket spread on the grass... a blanket with settings for two... and deep sorrow fills his soul as he watches the Little One reach out to the setting across from her... and tears of anguish fill his eyes as she withdraws her hand, gently touching the shimmering golden ring on her left hand.... for no one was there across from her... and the tears stream down her cheeks, silently... blinding her to the approach of the old wolf...
Quietly, the old wolf takes her sleeve between his teeth and gently tugs...
...and the Little One looks up through her tear-dimmed eyes into the sorrow-filled visage of the old grey grizzled wolf... seeing far within his eyes to his soul, seeing the deep soft love of the Wolf for the Little Lady... and his all-too-deep awareness that he can not take her pain to himself, that he can not heal her broken heart... knowing that if he could, he would....
The old wolf softly nuzzles the Little One, tickling the soft skin beneath her chin, and whimpers quietly, licking the tears from her cheeks, tail half-down and wagging slowly... and the precious Little One understands... and together they place the untouched picnic back in the basket.... and he takes the handle in his powerful jaws as she wraps her right hand in the deep fur of his neck...
...quietly, they walk past the pond... and the old wolf stops, puts down the basket... races to the side of the pond and woofs softly at the frogs... and the frogs leap in every direction out of the pond, remembering another night when a wolf took a bath in their private world... and the wolf snorts, whuffs at the silly frogs, and walks back with a very satisfied grin to Little One, who smiles and giggles at the once-again indignant frogs...
...taking up the basket in his jaws, with her hand again wrapped in his fur, the Wolf and the Little One, the Little Lady, walk into the deep and quiet forest, following a moss-covered and soft path known only to the wolf... past gigantic towering trees dreaming of elves... past quiet dales filled with ferns gently rustling in the soft night breeze... and in a small clearing... the wolf stops, and sinks gently to his belly; looking gently, lovingly at the tired Little Lady... motioning to his back... and the Little One, eyelids drooping, climbs onto his broad back, locking her arms around his neck, deep within his fur... and the wolf rises gently, and resumes the journey as she sleeps, secure on his back....
...the miles pass silently... quietly... hours later, the wolf enters a small hidden and secluded glade; a fern and moss-lined glade with a meandering brook of still, cool waters known but to few... He stops at the edge of the brook and gently lowers himself onto the moss... careful not to wake the Little One... then, when the Moon had risen overhead, filling the glade with soft golden light, the Wolf gently nuzzles the delicate hand of the little one... and she opens her eyes, smiling, and he rises as she once again wraps her arms around his neck, secure, safe on the back of the wolf...
...and the wolf quietly pads to his den, a den hidden deep within the banks of the small brook... and quickly disappears within... and her eyes opened in wonder, for the Old Wolf has painted her portrait on the walls of his glen... carefully arranging every sparkle she had given him in a delicate and beautiful mosaic that portrays the deepness and gentleness and goodness of her own soul...
...and, with her still on his back, the old wolf walks gently to the moss-lined wall at the back of the den... and he paws one section... and the wall swings quietly to one side, revealing a wide tunnel carpeted with moss and lit by gently glowing mushrooms... and she knows that no others had ever been there before but him...
...and they emerge into a beautiful hidden glen, a glen accessible only through the tunnel... a glen carpeted in moss and fragrant flowers, with an iridescent spring of cool clear waters sparkling in the moonlight...
...and she slides of his back, safe in the Wolf's Sanctuary... and looks into his eyes... and sees reflected there his knowledge of her strength and courage, her wisdom and love... Deep in his eyes glows the awareness of her goodness and beauty... and she knows that here, within the Sanctuary, she can rest... undisturbed, safe, secure...
...and as the moon quietly journeys across the night sky, its soft golden light plays over two peacefully sleeping forms... a wondrous gentle Child whose soul glows beautifully like the Aurora curtaining the heavens, and a large wolf, whose body is wrapped around her gently, sheltering her and warming her with his love...
April 22, 1994
Last updated: Saturday, 03-Jan-2015 18:12:51 PST
