Dreams

The ocelot paced along the branch of her tree, gazing up at the moon. Her imagination was pulling at her again, dragging her into the glory of the sky. The starlight wrapped around her, cradling her fragile dreams. The moonlight bathed her mind with a vague reality, though it made no attempt to penetrate the conjured castle of her dreams. Possibilities wafted through the halls of her fantasy, blown by the soft wind of her thoughts. She was a wolf, racing along the paths of the night forest. She was a raven, gliding high with sad tidings in tow. She was a hawk, sharply watching life below. A doe, wandering without a care. A coyote, alive in pranking, her eyes searching for an outlet for her cleverness. An otter, slipping through the waters as though one with them. She was the river, alive only in the giving of life to others. The sky, bearing the sights, sounds, smells of life through the world.

Abruptly, she returned to herself, an ocelot wound in a web of duty. Duty in which she both reveled and despaired. Duty, the foundation of her life; learning, the climbing walls; her dreams, the glittering turrets topped with brilliant banners.

Wow. That was kind of weird. I don't know where it came from.