Interspecies Encounter

We made eye contact. It was an instant connection.

I was walking by. She was standing still. Looking. She must have heard my footsteps coming down the path.

Her eyes stopped me in my tracks.

She wanted to look. She seemed to want to know.

So did I.

Who are you? I wondered. What are you thinking?

She stood up taller, on tiptoe, like a toddler reaching to peek over the edge of the crib.

I began to talk in a low soft voice. Nice to meet you. I'd love to know what you are thinking. You are thinking, aren't you? Yes, you are. She looked me in the eye. She was in no hurry to leave. Was she curious? Did she like the sound of my voice?

Or was she interested in the shiny cell phone I decided to aim at her?

Her expression made me think she was asking herself: Who is this creature I am looking at?

Of course, she doesn't have words like I do. But she seemed to wonder.

Can you wonder without words?

I have words for her. One comes from North American Powhatan, which means "animal that uses her hands." Aroughcun, or raccoon.

When I head south and cross the border, I have another word, this one from the Aztecs, mapache, which similarly means "the one who takes everything in her hands."

Hands.

I look at her hands. Did she notice how similar hers are to mine? Fingers and a thumb. So similar I could almost feel on my palm the roughness of the bark that she held on to. Hands, that give us both so many ways of knowing. Feeling texture and weight. Gathering food. Picking up babies. Carrying. Reaching and holding.

Holding on. You have to hold on, raccoon. Hold on tight. Life is not easy. We all have to hold on.

Eyes.

Black, deep, pondering. Outlined by a characteristic raccoon mask. Unique, wonderful eyes. Penetrating, piercing eyes, which at the same time had an indescribably soft look.

Eyes always say so much about the seer. The windows of the soul. The one who looks. The one who thinks. She was thinking. No doubt about it. Surely her way of thinking is different from mine. But there was consciousness there. Curiosity. Interest and, surprisingly, no fear. You have beautiful eyes, raccoon. I wish I could know you better.

Whiskers.

Whispering in small spikes, her whiskers stood straight out and brought a look of amusement to her face. Delight, even. Her face was full of expression—a special kind of individuality. I had the impression there was no other raccoon on earth quite the same as this one. You are the one and only raccoon for me.

Ears.

Soft and furry, outlined with white, they moved ever so slightly to follow the sound of my voice. Perhaps it was the first time she had heard a human voice so near. I wish you could tell me things, raccoon.

Nose.

Wet like a puppy's, yet smooth and hard like a bear's. A teddy bear's button nose, that is. I wish I could touch it. Tenderly tickle it. Little black nose.

Fur.

The low morning light made her fur look almost like a black-and-white photo—shades of white, black, and grey, silky with a touch of spike. Oh, if only I could reach you and stroke your fur.

Feet.

Bare, pale, almost like no socks, her feet seemed furless. Was the bare skin to help her in the water, when she crouched to wash her food? Do your feet ever get cold, raccoon?

Do you wonder if I ever get cold?

Where will your feet take you next?

We looked at each other as thoughts filled our heads. No one else passed by. Nobody interrupted our time together.

Our gentle connection lasted many minutes. We looked at each other, and we wondered about each other.

It was a beautiful interspecies encounter.

Then, as quietly as we met, we parted.

I like to think that both of us were wondering who we'd meet next and what was just around the bend of the path ahead.