On the moonless night of the equinoxes

something rises on the wind.

It‘s footless legs pounding through the night air.

Night hikers hear it chime

walking towards it entranced.

Its unquenchable hunger is like a bottomless pit.

It roams the northern Canadian woods

flying through stygian muck.

Its cannibalistic nature finally rises.

“Wendigo!”

Harsh voices cut through the air.

Then only the leaves whisper.

Reflection:

I find this poem should be read to thirteen and over in the middle of the day.  Even though I wrote it, it scares me.  The wendigo is a cannilbalistic spirit in Northern Canadian myth.  I used this because I read a scary book about wendigos called the “Curse of the Wendigo”.

This poem just came to me in the middle of the day when I was working on my math.