Sky Cougar Dancing
A slightly-crooked young applewood staff, butt worn yet still spry. Young, you might say, despite the many, many miles it has traveled. A small cottage, cozy and well lived-in. Old, perhaps, but still smiling in its warm, stony heart. All is quiet as the door opens. Night, it is, though the road gleams in the bright moonlight and the breeze is warm from the west. Pebbles, old as time, round and smooth and sure. Ancient, they would seem, but made young again with the twinkle in their eyes. Paws on the path, pads worn yet still spry. Tawny fur glimmering in a moonbeam as he takes up his walking stick. Young, you might say, despite the many, many miles he has traveled. Pawsteps into the night. Dancing, it almost seems, like the caress of old friends. A quiet smile as he looks to the sky and to the stars to the road and to the horizon. "Well. I'm home."