It was the new decade’s first Wolf Moon, first full moon of the new year, but he’d neglected to step outside at midnight and howl as he’d always howled for the Wolf Moon since he discovered the tradition as a teenager, decades and decades ago.
He hadn’t been asleep at midnight, but he’d already been in bed for a couple of hours, midnight these days being an hour at which he rarely found himself either vertical or energized anymore.
And this specific midnight did not particularly beckon him either: freezing rain, a gusting northern wind, and nearly an inch of accumulated ice making purchase on his traditional howling perch impossible.
Not that negative weather conditions had stopped him in the past, but this year those past years were, and clearly felt, more deserving of the typical descriptor “distant”.
He was an old man now, and someone else would have to do his howling for him.
—ancient vocal cords frozen—
only the wind howls