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A balmy breeze
had hitched a ride
with early dusk
and whispered to
the sleepy trees
encircling
the meadow.
A pair of hairy ears
played in the current,
sensing solitude
as night had come,
imposing silence
onto the valley.
A moose will rarely
eat by itself,
as it prefers
like-minded company.
He had been isolated,
shunned, and stood
alone.
Only a yellow,
worried moon
for company.
When morning broke
an urgent buzzing
at first light
had woken birds
and squirrels.
The sky was black
with flies,
attracted by
the blood.
The wolves,
in deadly frenzy
of restraint,
had brought him down,
with all finesse
and skill
that only wolves
possess.
Yet they had killed
with kindness.
It is the way
of animals.
And something
humans never, ever
will understand
Herbert Nehrlich
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