An Early Walk in the Mountains
In that wonderful half hour early morning moment, somewhere between asleep and awake, and I was thinking/dreaming about getting up and taking an early morning hike on a local trail up in the neighborhood mountains.
I imagined it. It’s stunning that early in the morning. The orchestra of the birds. The sun trying to sneak its way up and over the mountains. Dew puddled on the leaves as you brush by them walking up the dirt path, circling and crisscrossing around the urban mountain. So few on the trail this early. I come around a turn. There’s that momentary instinct that someone has been watching you.
Waiting for me, smelling for me, in front of me, a mountain lion. Staring right at me. Quiet. Sizing me up. My first awkward instinct is fascinated by seeing him/her in my town. I’ve only ever seen one in a zoo.
I race through trying to remember what I’m supposed to do. Do I turn around and softly walk away? Do I raise my hands in the air and yell as a sign of strength? Do I run to climb up a tree? I turn around and begin walking back down the path. Afraid to turn around, the eternity of time ticks away the seconds. Not a sound in the air.
I feel him in the air. His entire body presses against my back, and his weight and force slams me and my face hard into the cold dirt path.
His smell. His breath. His hunger is on me. His arms surround me and hold me hard against the dirt, paralyzing any possible shot of me even attempting to move or get away. His entire face digs deep into my neck. Tearing. Opening my body. Blood paints the dirt. He/she feeds on me.
I pull myself out of the dream. I’m going to the gym. Elliptical bikes are nice. I’ll watch something fun on my iPad.
.
