An Encounter
I started out as a child that walks out of the house looking to meet new friends. Heading uphill, away from the crowds, I took a chance on a road that appeared to be only houses and a dead end.
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The cat already sat, as if by landmark, at the beginning of the trail that led to E-9. A hiking route that in one direction led to the nearby Ermita del Cristo, an old church on the outskirts of Llanes, a village here in Asturias, Northern Spain.
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Looking comfortable in the late afternoon sunlight, I felt it a shame to disturb its peace. Its soft body sat curled on the green grass that marked the beginning of what appeared to be a pathway, up into the woods where tall trees stood shedding their bark. Streams of multi-textured grass sprang in varying directions. Speckles of meadow flowers marked the boundary of human footfall that bordered the denser greener vegetation. A mixture of classical, deciduous forest and something more unusual and unfamiliar, a plant similar to a banana tree, luxuriant, with big enveloping leaves that unfurled in tropical green colour.
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The sunlight played and glittered the scene, with a magical quality that added to the sense of the miraculous. Without resistance I headed in the direction of the path, approaching slowly but with determination, the cat stood up and looking behind at me, skipped up the path a few steps before stopping to look back at me again. I remained neutral, trying to walk softly, my footsteps in sharp acoustic contrast to the delicate and nimble steps of my friend. I wanted to imitate, evoking in my head the images of Native woodsmen and women, hunting, softly and swiftly pursuing their intent. Or Aboriginal people in the jungle, surrounded by a plethora of things which can kill.
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When our eyes would meet, hers oval and of a pale Aureolin and mine, blueish depending on the tint of day, they would lock in a gentle combat of gazes, hers secure and fastened, mine slightly hazy and off keel. I wanted to imagine the soft tender language of trust gradually building, with each extending second and each muscle of mine held in suspense, balancing, waiting before the next definitive movement.
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In a world too riddled with conflict, this must surely be an act of communion. She watched me as one would watch a sedative working on a patient, my barriers of resistance slowly melting in the thickening of time. With a few soft kisses of her tongue swiping her lips telling me it was friendly, like the dance of cranes, she echoed for her movements to be replicated in mine, tilting her head and beckoning to see her actions reflected in mine as a mirror. I unfamiliar and out of practise, unable to give in, to dissolve into the moment as if it were all moments, lapsed out of time; and there she went, with a few springy steps, jumping onto the old stone wall that demarcated the route to be pursued, she gave one last look back and was gone leaving me looking at the space she last was.