My Magic Is Different

Written September 13, 2009.

My magic is different. I am the son of ancient cave lions.

I am soft-pawed. My claws don't come out easily, though the tips may peek from time to time. My fur is thick and my skin is loose. I'm easy to touch and hard to hold.

I am more flexible and adaptable than I seem. I can live in the cold peaks or in the desert valleys, or in the sharp-scented green forests between them.

I have a big head and thick neck. My body is heavy and solid, smoothly and practically graceful. I move with both weight and lightness.

My tail matters less than my flicking ears, for all that my tail has the vestigial blade that so entrances me.

My fur can turn to foam and my bones to driftwood, my blood to salt and my flesh to water. I am the sea, and I am the predator who hunts its cliffs.

I am growing up and (re)claiming my own power. I am not alone anymore. I am not weak anymore. I'm not the young, small newly-adult who surrenders her kills at first scent of competition.

I am learning how to try, and how to fight. I am learning how to learn. I am learning how to be.

My magic is different. I am not the cats you know.