STORY

I found her at the edge of dusk, perfectly still among the long grass. A caracal, rare to spot, rarer still to see resting in plain view. Her ears flicked once, then stilled again. She knew I was there before I even raised the lens, but she granted me this moment. Caracals are often ghosts in the bush, fleeting, elusive, and often just a rustle in the wind. But this one let the silence stretch between us. She seemed carved from the earth itself, every muscle tuned to the land’s subtle language. I didn’t need her to move. The power was in her stillness. That brief communion, watching each other with mutual respect, was more rewarding than any chase. I took the shot, then quietly stepped back, letting her dissolve once more into the grass.