Heat

A leopard lounges in a field

of tall grass, her tail twisting lazily

over the cool Earth.  Overhead,

the noon-day sun grins

as it warms the leopard’s spotted coat

and tans the humans working

nearby.  Leopard’s cubs

paw experimentally at one

another beside her

with little mews and hisses. 

She flicks her tail in warning: 

Be quiet.  They settle. 

The humans continue

their work in the field,

feeling safe, but oblivious

to the wild animals nearby. 

Banter drifts

between them, and Leopard,

feeling at ease,

lays her head against the ground

and watches the dry grasses

wave at the sky. 

But an audible snarl

from one of her cubs

makes her start.  The grass rustles. 

The cubs’ play fighting

becomes a cacophony

of hisses and growls. 

Twenty feet away, the humans

quiet, listening

to the unfamiliar sounds. 

Raising their tools

protectively, they start

toward the noise.  Leopard’s

heart strikes her ribs as she leaps

to her feet, head visible above

the stalks.  She shoves

her cubs into a run. 

Shouts and angry voices

chase them through the field. 

What was their cover

now exploits their path,

and the furious bang of a shotgun

makes birds dive into the air, fearful

of that terminal bite

that blasts holes through flesh. 

A day in the warm sun

turns to a day of hurtling

through the heat.