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EncountersAt Jasper Ridge, Early One November MorningPhilippe steps out of his truck;I follow and begin to cinch up my boots. "Look - there by the lake," he whispers to me. I raise my head to see a charcoal-grey form bounding onto the bridge that spans the small, reedy lake. We freeze as the bobcat runs to the center and sits down as if that had been its intention from the start. Gazing at quacking ducks and bleating grebes, carefully licking dirty paws and ears, it calmly glances our way every once in a while. After gazing again at the birds, the bobcat rises and darts away to the other end, melting into the underbrush. Philippe and I grin at each other and quietly follow the bobcat's path without saying another word, hoping to glimpse the grey-tawny form once more. Copyright © Geoffrey Skinner. All rights reserved. Please contact me for corrections or comments.
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