I saw you from a distance as I made my way along the ridge.
I came to kneel beside your remains,
The vertebrae of your noble spine brilliant against the rock.
But with a sigh, I began to question:
Are you here just to remind me of a simple truth,
Your bleached bones providing the awful proof,
Of the fate that awaits us all?
On this windswept hill you are alone.
An empty quiet hangs over this treeless land.
There is no marker for your final resting site,
Just a few clumps of sage clinging to the volcanic stone.
Your blind sockets stare into the blinding sun.
Sad to think it was not the beauty of this place you saw
When last your eyes took in the light.
I’m left to wonder about your death:
Was it wolves that brought you down?
At the end, did you know your time was done?
Your ribs and legs are gone, scattered by the scavengers
Who patiently wait for something like you to receive its fate.
No trace remains of the grace and agility of your gait.
A few pieces of fur stick to the white bone,
Exposed to the sun and the stars, creating life from death.
I have to ask; did you put up a fight?
I suppress an urge to bury your bones, naked in the light.
An image forms in my mind of you:
Your majestic frame a dark silhouette against the morning sky,
Standing motionless upon the ridge,
Poised and ready as you scan the valley below,
Making life and death judgements within the eternity of each passing second.
And then you bolt with a sudden charge,
Leaping as you run beyond the ridge.
To my eye, you seem to fly,
To your mate, to your offspring, to safety, to life!
But there you lie, your beauty and grace long gone,
Decaying in the rain, the snow and the dust.
Still, your bleached bones give an answer to the questions why,
You helped me understand why we live and why we die.