I am an ancient lioness before the world was new, hunting and gathering in the shadows of elephants in the Maasai Mara, clawing out a living to keep my children alive.
Living day-to-day in a cobblestone-like land, its bricks baked into an oven by an unrelenting sun that remembers the songs of dinosaurs— I dream. I dream of paradise, an Engedi Mountain warmed by Elysium breezes, as I pant to keep cool. Then, as I awake from midday slumber I see heatwaves growing a mirage of wildflowers blossoming hope.
A hope, I know to be true; that my descendants a thousand years hence will live in comfortable homes with cobble-stone paths no longer scratching out a living; where they shadow-play at hunting and gathering, practicing on a wildflower.
And yet still—an ancient lioness courses through their veins.