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| Todas las fotografias son de Laura Makabresku |
Every night the wolf sets out after the brief footsteps of his beautiful elusive prey, sniffing every corner, leaving silken threads woven by an ancestrally revealed desire. He runs stealthy and cunning by nature, each movement like a small leap, imperceptible but clear, along the path of infinite delirium that runs through every limb of his body, sinewy and strong.
He can feel her daily and indispensable presence so close to him from wanting her so much, from dreaming of her amidst so much struggle and so many epic nightmares. The black wolf can perceive in its muzzle the stubborn vibrations of light footsteps, tender as fantasies on an exquisite palate, swift and dancing among the terrified grasses, the fawn's paws.
The soft deer comes out between the millennial fear and the sharp blade of the inevitable twilight. It thinks it is safe with less light and less horizon, with less curious eyes and less smells, with less sounds without concert among so many illusory incisive and at the same time so close and authentic.
The crow caws in the daytime but saves its crooked and arched beak for the snowy garment of the fairies during the angelus. It awaits, master of time and with patience, the unpostponable future of the blood flowing down to the last drop of that small and unarmed capture that progresses unnoticed through bushes and brushwood without its mother's knowledge. It will surely keep for itself the remains of the putrid game and then the dried skins and then the clean bones that no one wants.
Nature lies already dead with ochre leaves and dried petals on old sheets of paper, in jars sealed by withered cork.
The wolf's eyes see the creature near. The tiny deer knows how his faithful archer turns that sharp ears. He fires his crossbow and leaps the piece in a breath against the last remaining light of dusk. The fawn stares quietly between the deepening stars of the devoted wolf. He caresses his beloved's belly with the cool, cheeky kiss of his muzzle and she wants to be set on fire with love from her hip to the deepest recesses of the nest. And he slowly nails her tooth of love with all his affection because she accepts him in a unique and feminine trembling. And both shake intensely and passionately to the rhythm of the only heartbeat. Frenzied, they intertwine their black fur vigorously against those brittle, pale, scratched and smooth paws.
What a vehement ecstasy unites us when we fall prey to instinct and how time unravels it, lurking, hidden among our strongest and densest fibres, those that, under the illusion, we believed to be eternal.
Волк любовника. (Wolf love)
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| El lobo y su cervatillo - foto de Laura Makabresku |
