Friday, December 28, 2018

The Mountain

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

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