They call me ghost-cat.
They say I move like mist between the trees - seen, then not.
But what they never ask is why.
Why I walk when the world has hushed,
why my paws kiss only quiet ground,
why I lift my head not toward the sun,
but toward her.
The Moon.
She does not blind.
She does not burn.
She waits, she watches, she reflects.
She lights my path without noise,
and shows me what hides in the folds of the night.
You might fear the dark - but I don’t.
It’s where I find myself.
It’s where I remember who I am
beneath the stories,
beneath the roar,
beneath the bright, chattering day.
With her, I am not a hunter,
not a shadow,
not a symbol.
I am simply still.
I am simply here.
So when the night comes for you,
don’t rush to fill it.
Let it speak.
Let it show.
Let it whisper you home.
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