A hunting cat is wholly in the moment, utterly focused on its quarry, be it a piece of string or a hapless rodent. Yet to those of us observing, it's also the epitome of grace. Nothing with four legs moves with the liquid smoothness of a cat, that beautiful, self-possessed killer. I wish I were an artist to capture that silhouette of the black cat against the dried grasses as it slowly prowled through the field outside my office this morning, oblivious to anyone watching.
Black cat in the field
stalking leaves, in the moment,
heedless of its grace.
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