This is a very Indian legend beautiful: On a hot July night long ago a wolf sitting on top of a mountain, howling like crazy. In
sky shone a thin crescent moon that occasionally played hide behind clouds of soft lace, and danced among them, smooth and mild.
The howls of the wolf was long, repetitive, desperate. In short, they came up all'argentea queen of the night, quite annoyed by all that noise, he asked
- What are you yelling so much? Why not stop for a while '? -
- I lost one of my children, the smallest wolf cub in my litter. I am desperate ... help me! - Replied the wolf.
The moon, then slowly began to swell. And swells, it swells, it swells up to become a big, bright ball.
- See if you can now pick up your young one - he said, gently share, the wolf in pain.
Little was found, shivering with cold and fear, on the brink of a precipice. With a great leap father grabbed his son, hugged him tightly to himself and, happy and excited, but not without a thousand times thank the moon. Then he disappeared into the dense vegetation.
To reward the goodness of the moon, the fairies of the woods made a beautiful gift: every thirty days may regain its round, big, bright, and puppies of the world, raising his eyes to the night sky, can admire it in all its glory.
Wolves know ... and joyous howl at the full moon.
0 comments:
Post a Comment