.
The night of july rolls possessed by the lunar shine; the western breeze tries to cover in tenuity of clouds the spherical light; and beyond the ocean at night. Mare tenebrarum, houses of the dark Atlas...
The silent woods keep too many secrets, and paths not trodden yet; the silent woods have eyes, home of the wild boar; home of feminine ethereal spectrums.
And of the wolf.
Tonight is night of chase (in the hamlets lost in the mountains, does exist the strong credence in ancient, obscure legends mixed with a semi-pagan christianism; in the hamlets, lost in the mountains).
Since immemorial times the race of the men was enemy of the wolf; but at the same time, does exist a deep, superstitious fear to kill it: "The wolf belongs to Lucifer", they say.
There's a symbolism, unfathomable and strange, that links the iberian wolf with the aboriginal human, stronger than with any other animal; because he never disappeared of these corners, where Europe becomes ocean.
He never disappeared completely...
The chase of the wölf was practised since pre-historic times; before the romans, before Christ; the chase of the wolf is a heathen ceremony: the christianism never could erase the former, extravagant mythology...rather deformed it and strengthened it...
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The discordant sound of bagpipes flies across the empty forests, the fire of torchs it's seen from the distance.
There's a festive spirit blended with a surd, irrational fear.
The wolf sees; the wolf knows.
Brother wolf...
...In the nights of the winter, when the snow becomes ice and the moon strolls her sinister light; when old women inside homes of stone, close to the fire, silence their terror...
The wolf will be still there.
...Beholding, crying. Because he holds the mystery of the snow; and that sanguine kin...
But tonight, them, the humans; they do their chase.
An unreal smell of fire, silver, alcohol, it scorches with evanescence the air; a smell of fear.
...The moon is a blue vagina now.
The wolf sees, the wolf knows.
Sister wolf...
.
