Bewitching Hour Howling: wet eARTh and ancient secrets travel through my window

 Deep, from the bowls of eARTh, a rush of cold air saturates me. This invisible beast roaming far from its subterranean cave rushed up to me, through me, like a howling wolf. 

This was no ghost's touch; not seeing the wind yet observing its effects, my eyes drawn to the skeletal trees outside shivering in the moonlight desperate to recover from such a harsh winter. Desperate for spring to blossom. No, not a ghostly touch but a roaring phantom.

All quiet now. The messenger from the mountain disappeared, dissipated.  Residue remains of distant cedars and forgotten places. Something has shifted, here now, in this Bewitching Hour. A shifting in the veil, I sense the arrival of something ancient. A wisdom that has settled. A gift.

Daring another approach, I lay awake, waiting. The beast seems to have run its course, leaving me behind like a carcass, having picked over its preferred delicacies with its spectral teeth, disappearing into deafening silence of the Bewitching Hour.  

Skin sensitized. Nerves firing. Residual silence, heavy and intimate, draped over me as a damp silk veil clinging to the curves of my body as I wait for the beast to double-back. Where does this where-wolf wander? I hear the dogs that live in the fields yelping. Perhaps their skins too are humming where the wolf had bitten.

The night air no longer surrounding me, it is within. One stolen breath from eARTh's lungs now slowly warming my ribs. This part of me, that belongs to the dark, feels electrified and primal. My human pretenses stripped away, I delight in this sudden alignment with the night's heartbeat. A velvet warmth pulses from my veins charting a path for me to follow. An ancient map, glowing.

Bewitching Hour door is opening —activating pulsing daring me to seek shelter within. Where I can slide deeper into its song. THIS is the gift, right? Can I too howl without making a sound? 

The dogs are still barking their song. Perhaps they still are searching for the source of that subterranean breath. 

The Bewitching Hour door will soon close with the coming of dawn. What if I become trapped within Night's logic? Will I become a permanent dweller of Night's shadow? Will the sun no longer recognize me? 

I surrender