Biscuit Malone and the Great Returning

Biscuit Malone and the Great Returning

Biscuit Malone sways
at the table near the door,
his tail curled loose around a bottle,
his grin balanced somewhere
between knowing and becoming.

The brown bear sits easy,
his shirt stretched over his belly,
the words across his chest soft with time:
EVERY PATH LEADS HOME.
And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

The bonfire breathes,
sending embers spinning upward,
dancing into the belly of the stars—
a million sparks returning,
a million fireflies whispering
through the ribs of the universe.

Beyond the trees, the watchers wait—
antlers glowing, wings trembling,
their eyes lanterns in the dark.
Somewhere between presence and patience,
they listen.

Malone takes a drag,
laughs like he’s got
the whole cosmic riddle tucked in his sleeve.
“The universe,” he says,
“is right here with us tonight.”

The air is thick with roses,
sweet and golden,
like the scent of something
just about to open,
or maybe just about to rise.

“It’s beautiful,” the bear rumbles,
his voice lost in the fire’s hum.
Malone nods,
exhales smoke into the starlit hush.

“It’s all light, my friend,” he says,
tapping his forehead.
“Love. Grace.
Even when it changes form.”

Somewhere in the trees,
a branch bends but does not break.
The wind shifts, carrying secrets.

The fire dims, deepens.
The night leans in, listening.

The bear scratches his neck,
his fur catching the fire’s glow.
“You ever think maybe
this is how it was always meant to unfold?”

Malone stretches his arms wide,
traces a slow circle in the air.
“Everything moves in spirals, my friend,” he murmurs.
“You leave, you return.
You burn, you bloom.”

The bear nudges a stone with his paw.
“Then why does it still feel
like time is slipping through our fingers?”

Malone tilts his head back,
watching the sky open
with stars that do not hurry.
“They say the universe expands forever,”
he muses,
“but forever is just another way of saying
we’ve always been here.”

Beyond the trees, the watchers step forward,
their shadows stretching toward the fire,
woven from the fabric of dreams.
Their eyes shine, not unkind—
but knowing.

Malone watches them,
sees how the firelight turns their wings to gold,
their fur to liquid dusk.
“You feel that?” he asks,
his voice softer now.
“Feels like something’s waking up.”

The bear nods, slow and sure.
The flames sigh,
a quiet reverence settling over the earth.

A single rose petal drifts into the fire,
curls into light.

The universe inhales.

Then—

The wind stirs,
a song rises through the trees,
the stars pulse, steady and bright.

Malone grins,
his teeth flashing like moons.
“Well,” he murmurs,
“guess it’s time to walk the next circle.”

The bear exhales,
closing his eyes just for a moment.

The watchers move closer.

The fire flickers.

The night opens wide.

-Bearz