Keeping the Wolves Away

Wolves are in the darkness beyond the firelight, circling at the edges of peace. Their eyes are yellow with hunger, and their breath tastes like old wounds and words never spoken.

I've learned to tend this fire with steady hands and a patient heart, feeding it with small kindnesses, moments of honest laughter, and coffee shared at dawn.

The wolves howl familiar songs: regret's lullaby, guilt's anthem, the haunting melody of "what if" that echoes through mountain valleys where brothers once walked beside me.

They sing of choices made too quickly, of letters never written home, of anger spilled on those who loved me when I couldn't find the words to say "I'm drowning here."

But this fire burns bright tonight, fueled by more than desperation. Fed by lessons learned in the mountains, courage found in quiet moments, and all the love that outlasts loss.

Some nights they come closer, these wolves of memory and pain, testing the boundaries of my light. Their eyes reflect stories I'm learning not to fear.

They whisper of relationships broken by the weight of what I carried, of friendships lost to my silence, of years when I pushed away anyone who tried to help.

Because I've discovered something about keeping wolves at bay…it isn’t about building higher walls or burning fiercer fires. It's about making peace with the pack.

They're part of my wilderness now, these shadows that circle my camp. Not enemies to be slaughtered, but guardians of truths too precious to leave unprotected in the dark.

The fire crackles and sends sparks skyward, like prayers to fallen brothers, like apologies to those I hurt when pain made me dangerous to anything that tried to love me.

"Come closer," I whisper to the darkness. "Share my fire, but honor its rules: we speak of what was, what we broke and what we've mended, and how we might do better tomorrow."

I've learned to feed this flame with therapy sessions and tears, with reaching out instead of pulling back, with saying "I'm sorry" to faces that still choose to love me.

Morning will come, as it always does, and the wolves will fade with mist. But the fire will still glow in the warmth of forgiveness earned, in the strength found in shared burdens.

This is how we keep the wolves away. Not by banishing them to starve in the cold beyond our knowing, but by offering them a place beside the fire we tend together.

In the light of acceptance, in the warmth of understanding, even wolves can learn to sleep peacefully, and broken hearts can find the courage to heal what war has torn apart.