Lunacy. A real thing. Alone on the Wolf Moon in a desert I love, like so many other nights. Midnight. A truck full of screaming drunken men races up my dirt road. There’s metal banging. The engine roars. I can’t tell if the scream is of pain or joy. I feel the fight or flight hormones rushing through. The truck is now open and I’m ready. I could run and hide up the hill. I know this desert better than they do. And leave my truck open to vandalism? Never. What weapons do I have? 1 ice axe, 2 fire staffs. No gun. No need. I wouldn’t shoot. I know this. The screams are closer now. Pots and pans must be tied to the bumper. What feeling is this? The opposite of feeling safe. Would I feel safer if Jim was here? I can’t rely on others for my feeling safe. Would I feel safer if I believed I was safe? Yes. I used to believe. I don’t know why it changed. Would I remain aware and believing in a loving, kind universe if these men got here? Fascinated by the inner dialog, I feel it all, like an observer and a potential victim both.
They turn around less than 20 feet from the truck. I am parked on a muddy dead end road. They never saw me. I find their tracks in the morning. They drove back and forth through the thickest of the mud. They broke some trees and drove over cacti.
I follow their tracks all the way to the paved road. They were on a rampage. Mayhem and destruction everywhere they drove. I knew their path before I saw it. As they left the desert, I could hear their screams and see their red fading lights for miles. I wished those lights stay red. Don’t turn around. Don’t come back here, lunatic wolf moon madmen.
[Reposted here from a Facebook post from a few days ago]
*the Wolf Moon is the first full moon of the year.