nine miles down an old dirt road that runs the valley, the road disappearing before the pass, fading into a footpath, and then into a vague notion in a rare turn of events, i can see - but not hear - the whitewater that's running back toward from whence i came, and then on to a sea in some distant country i sit on a grassy hilltop, feeling i'm far enough down the road to be at peace
floodwaters rise.
peacefully drifting
around the calves
of those in search
of things that float
sinuous roots of the silk-cotton tree; are they moving?
Do you feel unease, walking in tall grass? Visceral tension? A primal impression from a time when a wounded beast [on its belly, & with labored breath] retained enough energy for one last lurch to impale its hunter? A raspy groan or bloody burble, and the jerky wave of the grass might be all the warning one got before The End.
in the savanna, a butterfly finds one bloom amid the dry plants
a cat on a ledge
peers down with rapt focus.
looking for… what?
Tiger Riding for Beginners 