Livora Gracely

The skateboard had four wheels.

The young leopard trusted approximately three of them.

He pushed off anyway.

For the first few meters, everything went beautifully.

The path was smooth, the afternoon warm, and the white fence slipped past in a pleasant blur. His scarf fluttered behind him with enough confidence to suggest that at least one member of the outfit knew what it was doing.

He grinned.

Then the board wobbled.

His left arm shot out.

His right followed.

His tail swung dramatically in the opposite direction, apparently promoted without warning to emergency steering equipment.

The board straightened.

“Oh!”

He laughed.

That had worked.

A little farther ahead came a gentle bend.

He leaned.

The skateboard leaned.

His ears leaned.

For one alarming second, the entire leopard seemed to be negotiating separately with gravity.

One sneaker lifted.

Two paws stretched wide.

The tail made another executive decision.

And somehow—

he remained upright.

His laugh grew louder.

This was becoming interesting.

He had watched older skaters glide through the park as though balance were something they had been born carrying in their pockets. Their feet seemed certain. Their turns looked effortless.

His did not.

His balance arrived late, left early, and occasionally required assistance from his tail.

But each wobble taught his body something the last one had not.

Push.

Roll.

Lean.

Recover.

Laugh.

Again.

By the time he reached the palms, he was no longer trying to look like the skaters he had watched.

He was simply riding.

The board rolled faster.

His arms opened wide—not from panic this time, but because the breeze felt wonderful there.

For several glorious seconds, everything aligned: paws, wheels, tail, road.

Then one wheel found a tiny pebble.

The skateboard twitched.

His eyes widened.

His tail went left.

His body went right.

His dignity considered leaving altogether.

He recovered at the very last moment and continued rolling.

The young leopard burst out laughing.

He had not mastered balance.

But somewhere between nearly falling and staying upright, he had stopped being afraid of losing it.

Ahead, the path curved again.

He bent his knees.

His grin returned.

Four wheels entered the turn.

This time, he trusted all of them.

Mostly.