My Rare Wild Feline

She came from the forest.
I don’t know how long she sat
At the edge of my camp,
Staring at me as I wrote in the near dark of dusk.

My computer lit my face.
Must have looked so strange
To a wild cat.

I felt her gaze,
As one feels any creature’s gaze,
Like one soul saying to another,

We stared
In silence
At one another.

She had the face of a lynx.
Tufted ears,
Not alert
Not on the hunt.



What was this

Just a head and shoulders lit up.
Floating in mid air.

She stopped,
then crept,
then stopped again.

“is that bird or beast?” she thought.

My camera lay out of reach
on the picnic table
As I sat
on my phone.

Slowly she crept

Just as slowly,
I moved
To retrieve my phone.

She was large for a lynx,
with a long, fox like tail
tipped in black.

Her two white front paws
a stark contrast to the mottled orange
her primary colors.

I realized a week later
she was a hybrid
the size of a small mountain lion
obvious lynx heritage.

For some reason I wasn’t afraid.
I was mesmerized,
and so was she.

As if we were old friends,
she laid down in front of my campfire,
licked her paws,
swished her tail
like any old house cat in the company of love

Finally, I had my phone in hand.

Should I raise it up
photograph this amazing moment,
Or enjoy her company
Silent until she must go?

As with any tourist,
I had to get a picture,
and that,
of course,
offended her.

She rose and slowly walked away.

I managed to snap
a handful of shots
as she melted back
into the edge of the Sierra forest.

I will never forget her.

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