Kallpa

I saw the puma before I saw the woman.

It was lying in the shade beside a rocky shelter, close enough to the path that I stopped immediately. Every part of me wanted to move backward. Then I noticed her sitting behind it. She was completely still, one hand resting on the animal's back as casually as though she were sitting beside a dog. She looked at me, saw exactly why I had stopped, and motioned for me to stay where I was.

I did.

For several minutes nothing happened. The puma watched me. I watched the puma. She watched both of us. Eventually the animal lowered its head again. I realized I had been holding my breath.

She never restrained it. There was no rope around its neck and nothing in her hands. Whatever existed between them did not look like control. The puma was still a puma. I had no illusion that its teeth or muscles had disappeared simply because it was resting quietly beside her. If anything, its stillness made its strength more obvious.

I thought about that for most of the afternoon. I have spent a lot of my life thinking strength is proven when it is being used. Climb the mountain. Carry the weight. Push farther. Endure longer. Solve the problem. Keep going.

But the strongest thing I saw today never needed to demonstrate what it could do.