In light of the sun

The Rascal in repose

In the space between the shifting of shadows, there is warmth. And he is there with it. Within it. Yes, bathing in it.

The daily rhythms of silent movement while we're away. Yet he is there dancing silently with them. Swaying. Dreaming.

What can we learn from the Rascal cat in his slumber? Are we no less absorbed in the radiance of our suns? Hovering around our constellations?

In the silent singular shine, fur glistens. Muscles twitch. Sighs from the deep eek effortlessly out. Releasing. Renewing. The sun sets, after all, and the Rascal cat reanimates.