From January through March I participated in a daily writing challenge – each day the people participating were given a new prompt and asked to produce a new piece. This is one of the selections from that project. The title is the prompt.

I know, deep in the old bones, that I am alone now. The rest of the herd knows too, and steer clear – at least the ones with good sense. Some of the younger ones approach, tentatively. Not curious, no, maybe more morbidly fascinated, testing their horns, snorting and challenging. I, who once commanded, now tottering on knees that no longer listen to me (never mind other buffalo), backing away. 

It’s time I guess, it’s the way. 

Time to turn from the herd and move to the edges, where the lions wait, the jackals bide time, and the hyenas scheme. You never think it’s your time and then you find your time is actually someone else’s time – agency is no longer yours.

So I wander past the river, up the hill, and lie down. When I was young I knew no sadder sight than the buffalo who could not leave.