A Dusk of Reasoning, a Curtailing and a Quickening

The night is swollen and ever-present. Curling into my shoulders. East wind stirs my whiskers. I, padding, into a stillness of welcome, summon knowing. The babies of night unfurled stir twice, thrice, then hitch a ride on a hump-back dream into yonderland.

Where I too am headed. My quiet laughter turns into willing. My prowl, alertness of darkness. Eyes keen in the night, my brother goes hence. I feel his hunt in my knees, in the down of my belly.

Dare I cross the waters? I scent the carp, the hump-back dreamscape, willing me to surrender. But I know their ways, their wily tricks. They would take me into their waters and cajole me to remain.

Still. I know what to do. Wait. Until it’s opportune. Then leap onto the rocks that offer their footstool. Zigzag across the trickster creek. Make it just in time. Before their charm can spell me. But. I should find another way back. They’ll be cleverer next time.

No silence here on the other side. An orchestra of life. Teeming in the undergrowth, whispering in the trees. Only vagabonds like me know to be silent as we enter the new realm. Enter and take what we want.

There. The scent of my brother. Stronger than ever. He is heading south. I follow him.