Conversation with the Night Sky

on the Solstice, December 2019


“five” by pappyfoundacamera is licensed under CC BY 2.0

Bearing only a sliver of light
so I might know I adressed
the sky at all, I asked:
Why must there be more black night?
"So I may replenish
the color of crow feathers,
that wolves may know when to sing,
that the moon might cast
a reflection in black water
and know that it is beautiful.
Should you gaze
into another's pupils,
the place casting no reflection,
you may know all things with eyes
are twinned and share the color
of this gift I bring today."

Lola vs. The Wild, A Brief Vignette…or Why I May Not Shower Today

Lola Sleeps It Off

Lola Chi is a new member of the Wild, Abandoned household. She is a near eleven week old Border Collie mix bursting with energy and already a loving companion. Her mother was rescued by a dear foster family. Mom was recovered, pregnant, from Houston and brought to Parker, Colorado, a city south of Denver. We adopted Lola at eight weeks.

We had an adventure last night in the front yard. I recount it as being about 1 a.m. when Lola was fidgety and in urgent need of a bio-break. I bundled up and fetched the leash. This is what we do. Patience is required. Her ritual includes a bit of choreography to discover the best place in the (neighbor’s) front yard for her performances. Also, she must collect brack and stems and chew them.

But tonight, she went into full-point, her attention keenly directed to the east. Our house is on a T-intersection on a bit of a slope facing our across-the-street neighbors. Last night’s street party was orchestrated by two coyotes streaking back and forth across the street, maybe fifty feet away. Sighting one is not an abnormal occurence, but two signals a rabbit hunt. There was eye contact: Lola’s, one of their’s and mine. Lola was on alert, I was dragging, but did swing to bundle her in my arms and jacket and head slowly to the front door. This would not have been her choice. She was in it for keeps, like Wonder Woman. There are too many stories in these parts recounting swift attacks on small animals. Something kept them occupied or scared them off, because they were gone quickly, like strands of mercury. My surprise was that Lola’s tail was fully parallel to the ground, her eyes were fixed on the interlopers, she did not move except to ease forward, and I detected no submissive posture whatsoever. Delivery vans scare her. She pee’d on me once when the UPS delivery woman came too close to the front door. But wild animals don’t scare her? This is maybe not so good. Was she ready to herd them? I’ll need to be more aware–like her. The Nextdoor site has posted that there is a Great Horned Owl picking off small pets. We are Wilder here than I recently recall.

On my insistance Lola slept the better part of the remaining evening next to me, in bed. Chalk it up to my unease, not her’s. Today, I, pridefully, smell like dog. I may not even shower. I don’t think the vet will mind. Lola may be a bit Wild, but she will never, ever be Abandoned.

Of Squirrels & Spruces-A Midwinter Tale

Wild, Abandoned reflected on the active energy present in nature during the winter solstice. Near the eve of the Hibernal Solstice, here’s a vignette on a very near winter world & the relationships of plant and mammals. Neither of the varieties of both hibernate, it seems. In fact, there is a highly energetic relationship between squirrels and conifers in winter.  The property I live on is nothing more than a small conifer orchard which includes six pines and firs small and large to the east and west of a house.  Now, pinecones are everywhere.  They make wide amber colored blankets of bracts which can be seen on the winter days when the snow is gone.  It’s squirrels at work of course.  They eat from the bottom up of these cones and drop the hard-shell exteriors of the seeds. I think they prefer to strip the armored cones of the fifty foot plus Red Pine to on the southeast corner of the property.  The seeds are the prize, under the scales, and they must be sweet and nutritious. They leave a vast field of middens (as these are called) on the now straw-colored bluegrass.  Here, they don’t need to bury the cones in the late fall for recovery in winter.  The trees are productive and simply don’t drop all their cones.  Those are the trees, by the way, that retain their green on the outside, even as they’ve halted the production of pollen.  I’ve often wondered why there is a steady drip of sap from the trees in the winter as well.  I’ve learned this to be, again, partly the squirrels’ work.  They have tapped the tree for the elixir that apparently nourishes as it gives them the energy to run amok.