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She comes to me in dreams. Sometimes

I can see her clearly. Sometimes she is

shrouded in mist so thick she is a phantom

Unseen. Yet I feel her breath on my skin,

Or I feel her eyes, watching from a safe distance

As if unsure of what I might do next.

Sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about her

Fear mixed with awe and respect and a

Longing for communication

And the knowledge of the ancients

Passed down through parallel lines of blood and gristle.

She is the teacher. The alpha and the omega.

There is much to learn from both ends of the spectrum.

She smiles then, the wolf, and feels the same.