This night of 20th December

This night of 20th December, the gazelle felt a little three-legged.

Returning to her savannah, a "Welcome back home!" greeted her in cheerful melancholy.

She staggered a little, finally able to stagger in the solitude of her own savannah after a whole day of striding. Out in the wild, striding was the only honourable way to walk, even if you are three-legged.

The gazelle staggered a few more steps towards the white haystack. But she forgot what she should have remembered before collapsing into it - the lingering scent of the lion in the haystack. (This gazelle has an incredible memory of smell. Smells for her are like the taste of madeleines for Proust.)

The scent that floated towards her was both comforting and debilitating at the same time. She could not even stagger anymore now. She burrowed her head into the softness of the haystack for a long time.

At long last, the gazelle got up and looked around. The savannah was lingering with the lion's presence. She decided to graze on some fresh grass. The nightingales decided to sang.

It was the lion's Bach in the solitude of the night.