The Snow Won’t Let Us Go
And Luna the Panther Is Not Happy
We were packed and ready—boots by the door, snacks in the bag, spirits high.
But outside, the snow had other plans.
It fell like it meant something.
Not a soft, storybook sprinkle—no, this was the kind of snow that shut things down.
Heavy, stubborn, absolute.
Luna the panther paced behind the frosted glass.
Not a real panther, of course—just a cat with too much dignity to be called anything else.
She glared at the window as if her eyes alone could melt the snow.
She had plans.
Plans that involved chasing snowflakes, not watching them.
Plans that involved prowling the garden like a queen—not being trapped in this glorified cave with her clumsy humans.
We tried to entertain her.
A crumpled paper ball. A feather on a string.
She swatted it once and looked at us with pure disdain.
“Peasants,” her eyes said. “Do better.”
Outside, the snow laughed in silence.
We weren’t going anywhere.
Not us.
Not Luna.
Not until the sky decided it had finished whatever moody masterpiece it was painting.
