The Hour of the Wolf

When you awaken in the middle of the night and your fears take over, that’s the wolf, and its his time. He embodies your worst fears, those you cannot stop, the ones that doom you. Try as you might to banish the wolf and get back to sleep, no more than a moment’s peace comes before his canines flash and he lunges for your throat again.

The painters power-washed the whole house exterior yesterday and it looks unbelievably awful. Passing homeless would cringe in horror and keep going. They’re supposed to paint today but, last night, the wolf was in rare form as I lay awake imagining all the things that could go wrong.

• Painters arrive with the wrong colors.
• Wrong brand of paint, wrong quality, wrong sheen.
• They reverse the two-color scheme of trim versus body.
• Five gallons of “Morning Sunrise” are spilled on the brick driveway.
• The cash half-payment I gave yesterday was all counterfeit.
• Winds carry the spray paint onto the neighbor’s new car.
• Painting with the right paint in the right places is almost done and it looks fabulous when a monster dust devil blows through and impregnates the damp paint with the yellow-brown Sonoran desert.

I’m exhausted this morning but, relieving my fears, they’re out there now scraping, caulking, and masking.

But I’m certain the wolf is lurking under a bush and watching. No doubt he grins when I glance in his direction as if to say, “Just wait. You’ll see.”