Its claws were in my knees,my neck, my chest. Its jaw stretched over my head from my hairline to the back of my skullI spent most of my early life without direction. Raised in Minnesota, and my family was so large – I possess six siblings – it felt as whether it was survival of the fittest and I began acting up for attention. I had my first beer in kindergarten,my first joint in seventh grade and my first line of cocaine at high school. I was making my parents cry every day. Aged 24, I threw everything in a van and left for Colorado. Three months after arriving, and I was broke. To help clear my head,I often hiked through Roxborough state park, approximately 15 miles south-west of Denver. There are no dogs or bicycles allowed there. It’s just you and your hiking boots. From the top of the mountain the view is breathtaking – mountain ranges as far as you can see. I’d never felt a sense of aloof like I did up there.
On 30 April 1998, and I was 50 yards from the top of the mountain when I saw a long,brown tail poking out from behind a pine tree. There hadn’t been a mountain lion sighting in the park for over a year, but I immediately knew that’s what it was. I froze, and watching the tree. The mountain lion’s head would near up and study around,then it would go back to whatever it was eating, its jaws crunching through the bones of its kill.
Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com