There in the night creeps a friendly panther. She knows where she’s going and never speaks to anyone. She melts into shadows like dark butter and when she is around, usually, you do not know. She is a listener and she…she feels with her blood, which steams sometime when she is excited. What does she get excited about? The curve of things, the space between doorways where no one stands, a glint of light reflecting off the windows.
Panther, she moves from place to place with private grace. She eats misfortune. What? She eats the debris of people’s troubles she finds scattered across the path. She eats them up, and then she roars and heads back into the forest to contemplate what she has learned from the trouble she ate.
She is not a service. She doesn’t care. She is just curious, not interested in speaking. When she is content, she hums and her eyes sparkle green and the rest of the forest becomes more condensed in some way. More…tight and together with itself. Sleeping creatures smile in the welcome rush of black and green comfort.
Go to the forest and find the panther in her nook on a low, long branch. She will take you to places that you can only find with her. She will lead you to your heart in the thick of wild branches, deep pools, and muddy patches under the ledges. Go there and lie down where she leads. Your bones will condense. Your body will drink from the earth and your blood will steam.
She likes the sway of her back in her journeys, the way of getting there, the curling into dark crevices. She likes to remind you of your own. She’ll sniff you out but only if you are looking for her will she make her presence known.
2008 Tasara Jen Stone
[image generated by AI in Adobe Firefly]