Bathing: Another sketch

The woods were dark. The outline of the mountain peaks were just differentiated from the sky by the light of the moon. The peaks were sharp and jagged rock, harsh features against the sky's gently burning stars. But they continued to shine. The breeze was warm. No voices could be heard, but the sound of the river and the moon's reflection on it could have caused one not to hear someone yelling at them from less than a foot away. The river was swift from flooding, higher than usual.

The wildness of the night threatened to demolish anyone who didn't respect it, who wouldn't stand up to it, who wouldn't worship it in some way or another. Just him and the wild. The out of doors. And so he stood there, feeling the breeze, taking in the stars and the mountain peaks and the rushing water and the cry of the wolf.

His descent to the water was quick, his entrance cold. The water rushed over him, and his body started to clench up. The stars still shown, and the wind was kind--warm. His hands moved quickly over the different parts of his body. Trying to get clean again.

The moon lined the muscles in his legs when they managed to break the surface of the water. Then all of him went in. Now the river washed.

The cold soon ended the bath. The moon displayed the naked body climbing out, up the river bank. The shadows on his back, hunched over on all fours to climb to flat ground. And then at the top he stood, shook himself, and moved into the cover of the woods before looking back at the moon to give his own kind of howl.