For nights I would see her in my mind’s eye, always in the same spot, head down, making her way through the grass.
There seemed no menace about her, like she was meant to be there, maybe as a protector, a siren.
One night, she walked with me to Junipero Serra. I was terrified of her. She sat in my stomach and rustled the poison oak, and at each dark patch I could feel her leap.
I touched the bark of a tree. I waved to the wild irises, then walked up toward the light flowing through the ghost gum. I was safe in the open space of the meadow.
Out of breath, I’m just shy of a ranger. I asked for directions, but I knew the way down.
She crawled up into my maw, and it’s lighter on that side. We both saw a wild rabbit, calm and alert.
© 2026–present C. Nightjar. All rights reserved.