Picking up where we left off last week…
Kind of sounds like the lead in to one of those old movie serials, doesn’t it? “In our previous episode, our hero stood on the brink of the abyss and realized looking into an abyss was much pleasanter than looking into an abscess.”
The raccoons continue feasting and Samuel continues patiently waiting.
As does The Wild, always.
Ever noticed an Old One in a hurry? Rushing through traffic? Trying to beat the light? Anxious to get to the next meeting? Checking its watch? Fearful all the good stuff will be gone by the time it gets to the store? Afraid it’ll miss out on the sale?
I haven’t either.
Things return to (what is for us) normal.
We’re so glad for that.
The raccoons are making their return, coyote (in this case, Samuel), is patiently waiting in the wings.
Actually he’s not waiting patiently and it’s obvious he’d appreciate my going back inside.
Which means I’ll stay out to make sure the raccoons have their fill (they rarely do), then bring out something for Sam.
He lets me call him “Sam.”
He allows me to call him “Sam.” I’m not sure if he’s happy about it or just tolerates my Two-Legged ignorance.
It’s documented in many places that The Wild accepts Two-Leggers into itself, under provision, of course.
It wouldn’t do to have children running rampant and free, you know, where their ignorance may cause them difficulties.
And we, Two-Leggers, are the children.
The Wild, the Old Ones, have been around lots longer than us.
Several native peoples worldwide tell stories of learning how to survive from The Old Ones. In some cases, by marrying into their societies. There was a time when The Wild and Two-Leggers spoke the same language.
We still do.
But you have to listen.
Remember my mentioning that Coyote are cautious? How ’bout they’re shy?
Well, both are true.
Still, they appear and let us have a peek at their glorious selves.
We’re fortunate to have healthy coyote in our yard. It’s not so everywhere.
We routinely scout for the wounded, the dying, the unloved and uncared for.
When it’s obviously at Nature’s hand, we offer a blessing and move on. The Old Ones know and understand.
When it’s because some Two-Legger’s decided to wave their dick or breast?
Oh, few things irritate me so.
But I’ve spent my life (and was trained in my youth) to honor all things because (I believe) life – at least sentience – is in all things.
When I am alone, I am never alone.
It is wonderful knowing no matter where you are, you are heard and that some one, some thing, listens.
I’ve mentioned before that coyote are cautious creatures.
Case in point, Shy Jackson, a male juvenile out and about for a midday stroll.
Since videoing this, we’ve confirmed loss of habitat on the other side of the woods from us.
This saddens us.
Both our town and the town we abut increase their services and infrastructure in order to lure people forward. This increase in services drives up taxes and the price of homes. The increased tax rate and home price keeps people away from our town and the town we abut.
And also drives current inhabitants to less expensive towns and such.
Which means there’s a housing glut, which drives prices down but forces tax rates up because now police must patrol more vacant properties for migrants, indigents, squatters, and such.
The increase of migrants, indigents, squatters, and such drives insurance rates up.
Which causes construction to decrease. Often at some point during completion. Leaving massive house skeletons on empty, untended lots.
And we still have Old Ones coming into our yard.
We are glad.
The Wild, as most know, loves music.
Music is loved because The Wild is full of music. Not just the calls of animals but their movement as well. Not just the wind in the trees but the leaves budding, the bark hardening, the sunlight nourishing. Not just the waters in their courses but the rocks they wash over, the paths they carve out.
And, of course, good tunes.
We’re always playing music and it’s fascinating to learn which critters like which music.
Rabbits, it seems, tend to pay attention to Billy Preston.
Don’t know why. Haven’t asked.
I appreciate their taste, though.
Long ago I would go out at night with my clarinet and alto sax. About five minutes playing in, eyes would ring from out of the woods. Soon I’d hear rustling as four-legged things hustled back and forth. Soon a coyote or two would come forward, then another, then another and another, and together we’d all sing.
I wonder if Billy Preston needs a partner?