Tiger Ice Cream

I’m moving down an empty two-lane road in south Georgia, as if being pushed slowly and deliberately along a track.

The air is calm and quiet, and I am alone.

Tall, straight pine trees set in neat, purposeful rows surround me as I make my way down the road.

The dark silhouettes of the trees line up and then separate as I pass by.

Behind the trees I can see the rich blue light of the dusk sky, a sign that it’s on the verge of nighttime.

I eventually come to a gentle stop, look to my right, and see a tiger crouched at the top of a gentle slope at the edge of the trees.

I’m eye level with the tiger. She looks at me with mild curiosity, but nothing more.

I then see she has something wedged between her two soft, yet strong paws: a vanilla ice cream cone.

She finishes looking at me, bends her head down slightly and licks the ice cream.

And then I wake up.

 

© Sarah Porwoll 2018

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