A Day
The sun had vanished beyond the horizon, and the sky still held the hues of a day gone that had handed its power over to the night. New sounds were rising in the savanna; the nocturnal animals were beginning to wake and come out of their hiding places. I, too, had risen not long ago after dozing through the heat of the day; now it felt good — it was growing cooler and easier to be out in the open. Above me, the branches of the acacias in the little grove where I had waited out the heat swayed ever more quietly; the wind was departing along with the sun, letting the sounds of the world around me come through more clearly.
It seems there is nothing unusual about the changing of day and night — it happens constantly and will go on forever. So it should be, but I feel that the oncoming night is pulling along a day unlike all the others — a different one; I don't know why it will be so, but with every passing moment I grow more convinced of it.
What could there be that wasn't there before? Everything in the world is unique, yet at the same time so much of it seems alike and is taken as one. The days are all different, but I recall the past week, and already it seems nothing new happened — everything repeated itself every day and night. Now I can barely recall the differences between them. The whirl of days swallows you up and you forget the passage of time. It's good that I still remember the eight dry seasons I had to live through, across all of my lives that make up my single one. Now, more than ever, I feel how whole these stretches of my life are. Now another rainy season is coming: these last days I can feel the damp and see more and more clouds. In a day or two the downpours will come and the savanna will sink into gloom; how I dislike such times — though I'm none too fond of the source of warmth, I hate dampness even more. It will be harder to track down prey — there will be few at the usual watering holes, because they will now be everywhere.
Perhaps the coming rains are an expected change, but I don't think so; the rains come every six months, while the day that will soon arrive will be altogether unique for me, and I don't know why that is. The world is vast; right now I can hear a countless number of sounds all around, and they all mean life. I am only a tiny part of all this, just as the coming day is a short stretch in my life, but it carries something within it, something joyful. Having spent four years in this world, I have lived through much, yet not enough, and life keeps slipping away; the sunset is still far off, but with each day it draws nearer, and the next day only brings it closer, and I feel it clearly, not as in days past. Yes, a new period in my life is beginning; what it brings, no one knows, and I hope there will be more good in it than bad, but that I'm fated to learn only in time.
In the distance I heard the roaring of other lions; it seems the lionesses of another pride were calling to one another, and now the voice of a male — they're probably gathering for the night's hunt. May fortune smile on them; I know that their failure would be better for me, but they are my kin, and their success won't get much in my way. I have been watching them these past weeks, watching carefully, trying not to catch their eye — I don't need extra trouble, and that pride has absolutely no need of me, just as I have none of it. It's simply interesting, and you feel safer when you know more about those around you. I know there are still others of my kind in the area; they're harder to keep track of if they too are loners, but not impossible. I have no desire to make contact with any of them — it's safer and surer to be alone and to rely only on yourself, and just as well when no one is relying on you.
I am like a ghost, appearing in different places, leaving as few traces as I can behind me; some notice me, some don't. Watching certain ones convinces me I was right to be a loner; from watching others I begin to doubt a little, but not enough to change anything. A white ghost, a loner who roams in the night — that is who I am, and that is what I will remain; even the coming changes won't alter it.
No signs of the bygone day remain now; the night has fully taken up the reins, the wind is beginning to rise again, driving the clouds that cover the stars and the risen moon. The rains are near and there's no stopping it; it seems hunting is pointless, and the nearest pride has already taken the best spot for it. Still, one can try one's luck — only I must go in the opposite direction from the pride, so once more I withdraw into the depths of the grove, hiding behind the trees from prying eyes, and then come out on the other side into the savanna, to meet something new. No one knows what awaits me there, and I don't know either, but it is there that I will meet change, along with a new day.