werewolves

when there's snow on the ground,
the full moon becomes something altogether more impressive.
that's real.
the reflected blues and brights, across the driven whiteness,
makes the entire woodsly goodness refract and enact an illuminated aura.
there's an ambient lightness keeping all of it visible
throughout all of the smallest hours
for the entire evening.
it's only even remotely dark before and after moonrise/set-
since the sun is still going to bed pretty early, and is always sleeping in, too.
the yellow circle hasn't gotten around to making any early appearances
at this point, in any january or any winter for that matter, that i can remember-
but that's more than alright.
why?
because everything looks better in dramatic shadows, neighbors.
and everything looks pretty good in these twinkling twilight blues, too.
this forest realm may be getting shortchanged on sleepable nighttimes,
but we're getting a first-class upgrade into the world of werewolfen berserker
battle-beast-mode barbarianism as the first full moon makes it's debut overhead.
i know i can sure feel it stirring my frozen blood to a boil.
mmmmhmmmm.
i'm also fairly certain my canine cohort is on board with the frenzy, the fury,
and the ferocity of a fullest moonlight iron-will activated shapeshifting
from a semblance of self-control into savage stormswept super-sh!ttiness.
y'know?
oh MAN.
he's such a little jerk.
just with me,
and mostly it's my own fault.
i'm impatient and distracted when i'm doing all the things
that aren't paying attention to him-
and that's almost everything else.
and that's what he appreciates and tolerates the least.
...and that's the truth.
i mean,
i get up super early because i have lots to do.
but he gets up early to prevent that from being possible.
he knows, friends.
he knows that i'm so much more FUN when i'm swearing and swinging
and issuing spiteful curses and threats.
y'know what really drives me bananas, though?
crabtree will totally be mostly well-behaved for amber.
for one thing, she doesn't play rough,
and for another, she doesn't care when he's naughty.
it's a perfect pairing.
meanwhile,
i'm over here having a title fight every night with a rambunctious juggernaut,
and my refusal to be unctuous and give him a juicy bone for being a butthole
means we're in a hot-fiery haymakin' race to see who gets tired out,
worn down, and exhausted first.
...it's almost always me, since he gets to recharge all day, every day, while i'm at work...
i'll endure, and i'll outlast even the suckiest of scenes,
which i guess is kind of my thing.
so, no matter how little rest i'm getting,
no matter how many times he disregards each and every hour of training we've
logged and dislodged so far,
he's probably still surprised at how many comebacks i can exact
on his long dumb alligator shark-bullet-biting head.
i'm sure he thinks we're playing,
but my tail is NOT wagging, kids.
not one tiny bit.
and then,
just when i'm ready to werewolf all the way to eleven,
and wring his supposedly-domesticated feral face into oblivion?

awwwwww.
he falls asleep and is the handsomest little A*-hole in the whole house.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress needed a four-legged lycanthrope
to keep the two-legged terror company during the hours and hours and hours
during which everyone else is elsewhere or asleep.
that's real.
i s'pose that's a good thing.
*
i'm a F*ing jerk.
he's a F*ing jerk.
we're two jerks with the same personality,
striving to sync up and get all sorts of synergistic.
by the light of the big silver circle in the post-meridiem sky, though,
we're biting each other in the flippin' face,
and doing our favorite thing;
which is, of course, to say,
we're ruining things.
two of a kind,
two at a time,
my hands have teeth,
and they bark out tales of truth-
his teeth are writing stories on all the surfaces of this house.
in carved glyphs of gnawed lawlessness.
it's ALL really happening,
and often,
since sleep isn't ever really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....