From the same era as the moose, a colored pencil sketch of a Lynx. One followed me home from grade school. I remember the rustle in the leaves, the weight of the body landing on the earth behind me. I wasn't afraid of the wild things. I felt instead as if the cat were a guardian seeing me safely in. My father told me I was making up a story, then later after he'd gone out to find and follow the tracks, apologized. Different family dynamics when you grow up wild.
