Tuesday

Photo by Ted Karch


They came down from the mountains just to the north of Durango.

At first I thought there was only one wolf. But as the afternoon wore on and the light began to fade in later afternoon, I saw others. Maybe a dozen.

They circled the house and the barns as if they knew what they were looking for. But it was locked away inside with me.

By nightfall I could hear them– their howling was deafening. It began to snow around
seven and didn’t let up until the wee hours of the morning. The wolves gave up soon
there after and left. They have not returned.

I ventured out this morning and took a walk to the creek where I could see tracks. Deer,
and elk and multiple sets of wolf tracks. The water ran cold down from the top of the
mountain; yet as cold as it was, it still let off steam in the frigid winter air. Somewhere
there was a snort and then a tree limb cracked as a mule deer raced away from the creek.

In the distance, a long way away, I could hear them again: a yelp at first then a full-on
chorus of howls. They were on someone else’s land doing God knows what, and looking
for what, I haven’t a clue. Food I suppose. But for now they were gone.

But they will return. Towards the end of the day they always do. And they will circle and
howl and make sure every inhabitant of the valley knows they are there.

It is winter now. Cold and quiet and still. It is the season of the wolf. And I wait. Inside.

Waiting for the fall of light. Waiting for them to return.