In the mornings near the road,

I’d watch the mountains seem to rise and fall
with the cloudy mist.

I wore a red coat, bright against the landscape,
waiting for the school bus
to round the swerve of trees,
my breath coming out in puffs of warmth.

The mountain lion’s scream
breaks the silence.
I’d never heard anything like it.

I investigated, asking my brother,
What was that?

He knew, and we both looked to the trees
high on the mountainside,
hoping to see the big cat.

Not a chance —
they blended in out there expertly.

But I never forgot that warning sound,
how it chilled my blood,
and how I froze
like prey to it.

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