![]() I did get to Bolivia, even went to the area Coleman so enchantingly brings to life, but, alas, didn’t volunteer in an animal sanctuary, nor, sadly, walk big cats. Not just because it sounded exciting and the cover is beautiful, but because it resonated – I’d done exactly the same thing as Coleman, jacked in a job in my twenties to travel around Latin America. When I first heard about Laura Coleman’s The Puma Years, I immediately wanted to read it. She prowls towards us and I’m staring, so overwhelmed, that when Jane slides both her arms carefully through the fence, I almost yelp … What is she thinking? … Then she’s licking. So long that I think she might not move at all, and when she does finally leap from the top of the platform, landing so gracefully it’s almost like she’s not moved, I step back with respect. She looks at us for a long, silent moment. ![]() The only part of her that stands out are her eyes, which are as green as the tops of those paddle-shaped plants, and her nose, pink as the tip of a sunset. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |