wolf - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Moving into the morning light is a wolf. She is a white-silver, fur glossy and thick. Her paws kiss the earth with a lightness and there is a serenity in her gaze. I stay still, for if I move she will take flight into the trees. I breathe slow and let time slow down, taking photographs with only my eyes. Perhaps tonight I will dream of being as free as she, out here with nature, living with her family,
In the half-light they could be dogs, but dogs don't move the way wolves do - in choreographed motions, one family of canine "dancers" flowing over the earth. There's an intelligence in their eyes, a shyness, a wariness of our kind. Wolves are loyal to their kin, the alpha's mating for life, the others helping to raise the puppies as an aunt or uncle might do. For a moment my spirit is with them, up there in the dawn-forest, drinking in pine aromas the same as we love fresh flowers.
The wolf had seen better days. His fur was thin and his clung to his frame like a windbreaker in a gale. Even from several yards away Gabby could count his ribs. His movements were faltering as if each step pained him and his head was sunk low to the ground. Those hazel eyes that should be scanning for danger or opportunities to eat never rose from the baked summer mud. Then just yards away he tumbled to the ground as if he meant to lie down but couldn't coordinate his limbs. Then with his great grey head on his paws he closed his eyes. This fine animal with no concept of death was ready for his long sleep.
The wolf is as white as the snow. Her fur, short over her body and longer at the neck, is smooth and shiny. Her stance is confident and body muscular, this girl knows how to take care of herself. She regards me fleetingly before heading back the way she came, further up the mountain toward the snow-line. Her movements are fluid and without apparent effort; while I huff and puff to climb a few yards she just goes up her limbs were the finest machines every made.
On the crest of the hill are several silhouettes, wolfish. Two stand almost statue-like while the others tumble about, pulling one another over. When the foremost wolf howls they all stop, drawn to join in like they have been invited to a family feast. Together they fill the still air with their "singing." I guess that's their hymn, one song, no words, just pure joy.
The wolf was nothing like the monsters of fairy tales. Instead of being aggressive it was as docile and shy. Whatever gene it needed to be an alpha, it wasn't there. When Kevin approached she rolled onto her back, tail wagging. Her body bore scars. He reached out an hand for her to sniff and she sprang up, pushing her weight into him. He smiled. Two rejects together. Refusal to compete was always his worst fault according to his mother and this girl was the same. He didn't need a leash or collar, she just followed him home and made herself comfortable wherever he was.
The wolf looked like, Lola, my neighbour's husky-cross. I bet she'd be the same to touch, warm and soft. She lay there in the sunshine, eyes closed, blissful, listening to the music of the skies as much as anybody loves song and rhythm. There was something so right about her being there, as if nature craved her presence as much as she loved the sun-rays.