Busy Days in Raccoon Town

We are known by the Old Ones.

In our backyard, they gather for their feasts.

Being known by the ancients can be wonderful.

And wonderfully terrifying.

As I noted in The Shaman

I drive back from the Y, late Fall, late morning, and come around a curve as a frog hops into the road.
I swerve, drive on, complete the curve, pull over, stop.
The frog continues its journey into the road.
Others will not care if this one completes its journey or not. Some might see its movements against the wet tar of the road.
Two cars come around the curve in my rearview mirror.
I get out of my car, trot back up the road, find the frog dead, crushed and flattened, three-quarters of the way across.
I grieve. I should have acted sooner. I know what is important and what is not.
I cry, ask Frog’s forgiveness for not taking care of its shadow.
Sunlight comes over the hillock blinding the curve, shines on the grasses opposite me, steaming where the frog might have been.
A mist rises.
Coming forward.
Old Ones.
The First Ones.
The Ancients.
The True Ones of which all else is Shadow and Myth, a harmony of human and animal energies so I can understand.
A’blig’moodj, The Frog Prince, the one of whom one of my teachers is a shadow, walks forward, holds its hand up to me.
Behind him, beside him, Wolf, Bear, Stag, Eagle, Lion, Hawk, Moose, Whale, Dolphin, Salmon, Oak, Ash, Thorn, and more lost further back in the mist.
A Council of All Beings.
A Council of All First Ones.
A’blig’moodj’s mist forms around me. It takes my hand. I hear it inside me. “Do not grieve, Gio. This one was old and could not survive another winter. It is good he comes Home now.”
I fall to the pavement, shaking, terrified. To be in the presence of such energies. My bodies can not stand.
A’blig’moodj lifts me, holds me, stands me beside him. “You are known to us, and we thank you.”
It returns to The Ancients.
I crawl to my car, unable to drive, barely able to breathe.
To be known by The Ancients.
And live.


Mr. – umm, I mean – Ms. Hawk

We are graced by the anonymous Mr. Hawk.

You may wonder “How can one be anonymous and still be a Mr. Hawk?”

Well, part of the problem is my assuming a gender and being incorrect.

Let’s start again…

We are graced by the anonymous Ms. Hawk.

Who, once we are corrected, happily shares her name, Angeline.”

Looks like an Angeline, now that you know, doesn’t she?

Perhaps the unisexual Ange?

Ah, well…perhaps not.


The Return of Opie

The Mighty Ops has been missing from these posts for a while.

We’ve known both Opie and Opalina have been about.

They leave calling cards.

You don’t want to know.

Shy yet ferocious, The Mighty Ops takes on all challengers.

Discretion is the better part of valor, of course, and still…

Don’t get between Opossum and their meals.

Remember their war cry – Beware my piercing teeth, Two-Legs!


Dissed by a Hawk

Ever encounter someone who’s just going to be persnickety no matter what?

You can be friendly, gregarious, giving, and they simply can’t be bothered.

I often wonder how to work with such people.

One of my guiding Principles is people treat you as they wish to be treated.

Often I wrap that in “You’ve got to be kidding. They want to be treated like poo?”

Some people, some times, yes.

I appreciate some people may respond uncharacteristically in the moment.

Who knows what’s going on with them when they respond so? A bad day? Bad haircut? Bad piece of beef or undercooked potato?

Such people apologize.

No problem. No harm done. Is there something I can do to help?

Others simply repeat their behavior or avoid making contact, perhaps ashamed of what they’ve done or said.

I mourn for those sailing such straights.

Their minds must be seething with things unimaginable.

And I write fiction.

I can imagine all sorts of things.