A Tiger's Tale

By day
The sun made its usual spin over the jungle's canopy
Its light falling through every crack and open space it could find
Until only the purest lines from earth to the heavens
Fell in streams to the ambrosial soil.
It was dense and lush here.
This season's growth on top of many seasons before.
Over the years he'd worked his way deeper and deeper
From lincoln to dark moss.
When younger, he'd sometimes stray all the way to the fringe
Where jujube and teak trees adorn the land as single stars
And blue overhead stretches from end to end.
There, there is dust and wind
And movement can be seen from a mile away.
His body was powerful and lithe then.
His coat, a sleek brush fire orange and the deepest black.
Here, the trees and vines so manifold
Its impossible to tell where one ends and another begins.
Here, the sky's blue is just pin holes.
Here, there is no dust
And the wind a diffused breath inward from every angle.
Nothing can be seen beyond a few strides in any direction.
Where he found himself now has no name
Because no man has ever found it.
He strolls to his familiar stump and bed of twigs
As the vertical rays replaced
By the day's last gasp running over the timber's crest
Grayed, then bronzed as the clouds rushed in and opened.
The first drop fell high over head, never to reach the bottom.
It could take more than an hour for a storm to drizzle
Through the fiber of the forest.
Once arrived, all was as much water as air.
He let out a chilled growl as he backed his body under ferns
And scratched a long dead fallen branch overhead.
The moisture pearled on his whiskers.
How many storms had he seen?
Was this one any different at all?
He wondered how many rain drops he was hearing pelt the world
And how far away the farthest was.
His stomach was empty.
A strike of lightning a mile away flinched him
And took with it all remaining energy within him
As he fell to slumber for the night.

-DyMc