summer_jackel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
summer_jackel) wrote2008-11-06 02:43 pm
summer_jackel) wrote2008-11-06 02:43 pm
Entry tags:
Joy
It has been one of those crisp and ringing November days, warm, the sky blue and cloudless, the world cleansed and sparkling from the first big storm of Northern California's rainy season. I was riding my mare through the yellowing vineyards when I saw her.
She shot in front of me with aching fleetness, but I was blessed with a few seconds' good look: surprisingly small, for they are so much smaller than we think they are, than it seems they should be, than they are in the frightened imaginations of so many. No taller than a Labrador, certainly, but at least twice as long, with the tail again the length of the body. And no dog ever born could move like that.
She was a deep, rich gold, darkening to burnt honey at the extremities of her large, soft paws, her small, neat head and that supple whip of tail. In an instant, she was gone into the vineyard. I spurred Tami into a gallop in the hope that I might steal another glimpse, but in those seconds the lion had evaporated.
I have seen tracks, even what was left of kills, and I always look for them, always hope for them. This was the first wild cougar I have ever witnessed. Something inside me is still trembling. These words: joy, awe, gratitude, reverence, hope. They seem so indescribably small, next to a mountain lion.
She shot in front of me with aching fleetness, but I was blessed with a few seconds' good look: surprisingly small, for they are so much smaller than we think they are, than it seems they should be, than they are in the frightened imaginations of so many. No taller than a Labrador, certainly, but at least twice as long, with the tail again the length of the body. And no dog ever born could move like that.
She was a deep, rich gold, darkening to burnt honey at the extremities of her large, soft paws, her small, neat head and that supple whip of tail. In an instant, she was gone into the vineyard. I spurred Tami into a gallop in the hope that I might steal another glimpse, but in those seconds the lion had evaporated.
I have seen tracks, even what was left of kills, and I always look for them, always hope for them. This was the first wild cougar I have ever witnessed. Something inside me is still trembling. These words: joy, awe, gratitude, reverence, hope. They seem so indescribably small, next to a mountain lion.
no subject