BIG CATS
Stealthily Stretching Out

Driving fast like a fast car in slow-motion in a Porsche commercial down sweeping roads in the green Sierra foothills we listen to Joanna Newsom split glass in Nevada County: the sheared rock of Yosemite towering behind us a muted roar in our minds against the crystal blue sky. After an extended conversation about money and its inevitable decline, Jenn and I sit in silence for a few minutes thinking about becoming adults, the siren call of the wild against our bipedal human nature and its proclivity to procreate or at least surrogate.

When we reach the alluvial plain of the San Joaquin Valley variegated by millions of sweet almond trees and huge piles of ripe manure mounded next to milk-making factories, a little squabble ensues over the proper integration of our IPod with the stereo of our dark red car. Dark thoughts dissipate now as Rufus Wainwright wails in his unabashed way now in our long swerve around the spinning blades of hundreds of windmills down towards Pleasanton.

Our 48 hours in Yosemite had been filled with clear moments in air so clean it left “an aftertaste of granite in your nose,” Jennifer thought. We watched a bobcat stalk mice, mule deer browse grass, and small clumps of third-world tourists investigate the scenic spots. We listened transfixed to frogs sing in an interlooping rounds of other-worldly under/overtones and worried only slightly about the future of our lives; that is, imagining the possibilities and being creative. As we sipped coffee out of heavy glasses at our spa/yoga retreat/hostel surrounded by pictures of bugs, we thought a slow morning, sleeping late buried in blankets like giant cats was more important that a guided tour – even if Ranger Jack gave you free snowshoes.