On the way home from school, the full moon was already above the treetops. The sunlight wasn't fully gone, but the sun itself was beyond the horizon. The sky was a faded blue, and the clouds tinted a light purple. They slipped around the moon like smoke during a fire dance.
The main road I use to get to and from school has a section which is absolutely filled with trees and bushes that have, suddenly, turned red. So many trees had gone straight to brown I didn't think we'd get any color, but reds were spilled on either side of the street. Some of the reds were bright, shiny, and others deep, thick, edged in black.
I drove with both windows down and the air was cool and sweet.
I am restless tonight. I want to run through the darkness and dance under the stars and clean my house and rebuild my car and write for days and light candles and pour gas on bonfires and spin through the smoke and the night and the magic of the full moon.
This is why bipolar and fictional lycanthropy go together so well. The beast unfurls within my flesh and I would peel away my skin and bones.