Wild ones, attempting to survive, dealing with steel and speed and petro, you and I observing.

You witnessed it, the black bear who shepherded her cubs across the highway,
the cars that paused, you and I behind our bikes, wondering and wary, fishing
for our cameras, too stunned to get a shot. I leaned into you, afraid for us, far
more afraid for them. We were unwilling to follow their route over the median wall across the other side of the highway beneath the pass that was our goal. What was theirs? Water, you suggested and you spoke for them. “They/we cross this way often.” What did you observe that they needed on each side of concrete and risk? This road seemed to you part of their routine, this road of death that connected them to sustenance.