In the small Midwestern town where I currently find myself, winter has finally cast its spell upon the earth. The human pests that inhabit this area have almost all bolted their doors against the icy chill, and a blanket of snow covers every inch of the ground. Not one for convention, I try to spend as much time outdoors as possible, surrounded by the frozen wasteland. The moon, bright and full, rises and casts an eerie glow on everything it touches with its cold rays of reflected sunlight, and though her children have not inhabited these parts for many years, when I listen carefully, I can hear the echoes of their ancient howls. It is the night of the Wolf Moon.

It is generally understood that the name “Wolf Moon” comes from the fact that before the time of sprawling cities—and humanity’s attempt to exterminate the apex predator—wolves could be heard howling most clearly on the first full moon of the year. There are a few reasons for this equally beautiful and terrifying occurrence. This time of year is mating season for wolves, so they are more active. Additionally, in the ancient world, man lived much closer to the wilderness, sometimes even in it, with no barrier between him and nature. Perhaps the most fascinating reason however, is because of Winter Silence.

Winter Silence (a name I give this phenomenon) is that noticeable air of quiet that settles over the land after a significant snowfall. Part of Winter Silence is due to many of the chattering and noisy animals seeking shelter and hunkering down during snowfall, but the major reason for it is the sound dampening effect of snow itself. Snow, being porous, absorbs sound waves at a rate that far surpasses the plant life which dominates the surface of the earth for most of the year, but this generally only effects low frequency sound waves. So, when wolves head to higher ground in order to signal to each other with their higher-pitched howls, the sound carries over great distances, through slumbering, leafless trees and almost completely unencumbered by Winter Silence.

Not many have the opportunity to hear the song of the wolves in this sanitized modern world. I have though. Many times, in my youth and far away from where I currently sit, I heard that chilling symphony echo through forests and valleys. Each time it filled me with a sense of awe and wonder—as well as a healthy respect for whose territory I was in.

Now, it should be understood that humans are symbol driven creatures. No amount of reason can eliminate our need to create myths around the natural phenomenon that assaults our primitive senses. I am no different, in this regard. I am not a man of letters, but I understand the facts concerning Winter Silence, the behavior of wolves, full moons and natural cycles. It is all very boring and simple. Well, it would be, except in my mind something far different from just these dry facts is occurring.

The song of the wolves, at once triumphant and mournful, pulls at the very fiber of my being. Deep within the recesses of my mind, I hear what London described as the call of the wild. An urge to shed all pretense of humanity and civilization. To return to the way things used to be—wild and free. To run and hunt and play on forgotten trails and in forbidden groves.

Although the wolves have not run through this area in almost a century, with the Winter Silence in full effect and the glow of the Wolf Moon illuminating the darkness, I hear the ancient calls of the true kings of the forest. It emboldens me. It demands an answer.