There is a place
Where the clouds rest
Snow shapes the hills
Dark green trees protecting
The mountain lions that hunt within their branches
The hawk that hops through the snow
to pick at a dead fawn, startled, in a split second,
He is now prey, and my dog and I, the predators
as he can not fly off through the thick trees.
Like all wild beasts he knows
That all predators are another’s prey.
We move by with a glance of respect
Our lives briefly touched by this truth
Of the mountain
Written on 12/14/18