We see him as we come to the crest of the hill. At first glance, it looks like he is limping. And I think, “Okay, this is good–if he’s hurt, the nature center is right there.”
Only he is headed in the wrong direction. Coming down the hill, away from the center.
I realize then, though, that he isn’t limping at all. He is sort of…skipping. Almost dancing. But as he comes closer, I see that he is crying, too–really crying: simple, unself-conscious tears like a child’s tears, his eyes shining, his cheeks wet. I try to guess his age and figure mid-forties.
A grown man, in tears, and skipping. Skipping through the forest. Okay.
I have seen my father in tears only once, when he couldn’t stop himself from crying, because of pain that only sobs could cast out.
This is different. This man is weeping openly, unashamed. And he is smiling. I get it then: he is overwhelmed with joy.
He holds something in both his hands, cradling it – a squarish black something.
“Bobcat kittens,” he says, and we stare at him. I see, then, that the black thing was a digital camera, a good one, a professional’s camera, with a long bulky lens.
I laugh. Because by now his euphoria is contagious, just pouring off of him. Like incandescent light; like a strong, fresh current of air; like the sweet scent from a blossom.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “What bobcat kittens?”
“Back there, in the woods, just off the trail. I photographed them. I can’t believe I got to photograph them.” He pauses to shake his head in wonder. “See -- bobcats are making a comeback in this area. There’s four of them, four kittens, all healthy. They were just born. They’re so small -- Oh.” He looks at us.
“What?”
“I forgot. I’m supposed to tell you not to go down that trail.” A note of apology creeps into his voice. He can tell that by now, we want to see bobcat kittens too. And he wants to share them with us. He is so happy about the damn bobcat kittens.
“That makes sense,” I say, reassuringly. “We don’t want to disturb the mom. The... the momcat.”
“I can show you the pictures, though,” he says. “Bobcat kittens! Still can’t believe it.”
I say it too: “Bobcat kittens! Yeah!” We stand there smiling at each other, then bend over the camera. He hadn’t bothered to wipe the tears off his face, before, but does so now, briskly, with the cuff of his sleeve, to keep tears from landing on the viewfinder.
I think of him every time I come to that part of the trail, and sometimes I say it aloud to myself: bobcat kittens.
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