The sun set down on the rocky caldera, another night is upon them.
The other creatures lay down to slumber, another day’s end and the nights beginning.
The moon rising high upon the dark forests and high rocky peeks of Yellowstone.
But all is not still, the silence is broken. A low mournful song on the wind.
“AWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOO!”
“AWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOO!”
The mourns of the pack, the low mournful sound on the wind. Their leader is dead, old age has taken him. Their grief they sing to the forest.
The full moons glow cast down on them all as they sing of their grief to the night.
“AWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOO!” one calls
“AWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOO!” another replies.
The low mournful sound on the wind.
Deer raise their heads; birds take to the sky, to the tune of the wolves mourning.
The bear tips his head; the mice squeak in fright, to the low mournful sound on the wind.
“AWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOO!”
“AWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOO!”
The sound of sadness, of grief and despair echoes through the forest that night.
From the east the dawn breaks and the forest is silent.
The low mournful sound is no more.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.09.2010

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