I met a lynx once just around the corner of the house I have in the country.  I was sitting by the lake when my eye caught a movement at the edge of the forest.  It was a beast, not that big, but a beast.  I got up and figured that I could see it move away through the threes.  As I walked past the old shed, we came face to face, just three feet apart.  The lynx had gone around the back of the shed rather than moving away.  It didn’t seem scared of me, and neither was I.  We looked at eachother for a second that seems much longer now.  I was amazed at how small its head was compared to its massive body;  but the paws.  The paws.  Big, powerfull.

Then the lynx just turned around and smoothly hopped back into the bushes.

I have seen it a few times from afar after that.  Lynxes cover huge territories, where they suffer no competition.  Solitary souls.  I know however that it’s around.  Not often, and not making itself known.  But winter is great for that as it reveals life that we otherwise wouldn’t even notice.

Here, the lynx’s track.  And a fox.  Not the same day, surely not even the same week.  But as the snow receeds by end of winter, months of life come together in a single moment.

It always feels reassuring to see these tracks.  A sign.  the lynx is still going about its life.