There’s nothing as fierce as January, once she puts her mind to it. Blizzard force winds and the sky clear as ice, the air rich with coconut and tundra, salt spray and glaciers, sea foam and month-old ice pack.
The wolf sleeps in the open, needs only the shelter given by the shape of the land, or the grace of a tree. His moon is the same – wide open and fearless. Hunt to sleep, sleep to hunt. His arc is wider, wilder, at odds with the world.
This is the moon that sets the journey for the coming year, that shows us the way through this particular forest, on this particular journey, around this particular sun. It’s happened before, this remembering to remember just exactly what is required to slip through the darkness untarnished, undamaged and unafraid. Memory is all we have to confirm the future. The future is all we have to prove that we’re alive.