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Have A Heart
Wanting to avoid last September’s nightmarish experience with a possum who found his way into our furnace and died, my wife and I decided to take steps to prevent such a thing. Yesterday evening, I got my large Have-A-Hart trap from the barn, baited it with marshmallows, and placed it in the cellar. This morning when I let the dogs out, it occurred to me to check the trap, so I went to the cellar and flicked on the light. A young possum, about the size of a kitten, was staring back at me from inside the Have-A-Hart. I waited until I let the dogs back into the house, then…
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Summer’s Last Exhale
Summer’s Last Exhale How it shifts in a flash, the sun’s face bled to the edge of anemia, and I can stand under its living stare and not wither. Half a fortnight ago and just clipping shrubs would see my shirt soaked with salty sweat, but now my toes are numb and all has moved winterward. Jinx the fake heeler sits hard by my feet, spots like bullet holes along his flank, and I wonder what arcane and occult runes I might discover if I connected them in a certain way, perhaps using my sinister hand? At least I wouldn’t have to fear immolation as a witch, because witches have…
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All The Help
While getting ready for work, I glanced down at the trash can in my bathroom. In stark relief against the white interior was a daddy longlegs (harvestman), busily scrambling in an attempt to escape from the situation he’d gotten himself into. Watching the little thing, I thought back to the day when my wife rescued a chipmunk from a wading pool in our back yard. By the time she discovered it, the poor creature had almost exhausted itself swimming round and round, trying to find a way out of the circular and watery hell into which it had fallen. She lifted the chipmunk out and laid it on the grass,…
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The Air Above
The three-day weekend was a lovely time of relaxation for my wife and me, helped along in no small part by the weather. The air has changed, the sun’s power seemingly more remote, and the nighttime chill very pleasant. The dogs let us sleep in all three mornings, and we kept windows open during the night, the cool temperatures lulling us and soothing our tired limbs. It’s easy for me to forget how restorative sleep is until I reach a certain point of exhaustion and then am allowed to catch up. The word “rejuvenation” comes closest to how it feels, and this morning I feel rejuvenated. On Sunday, Jinx brought…
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Those Who Soar
I wrote recently about how I hope that Heaven will include for me the chance to fly, to see things from the perspective of the majestic birds I watch daily with a wistful eye and sometimes with a catch in my throat. Last evening while walking with Jinx, a large bird flew across the road in front of me, then swooped high into the locust tree a few yards away. I only got a flash of a look at it, and wondered if it was a peregrine falcon, or perhaps a Cooper’s hawk. I have seen a peregrine twice in the last year in the fields near our home, and…
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Nineteen
Nineteen I am standing, I am watching on the strait of southern grass through which the fickle current of fogs undulates in the early part of day before the skyfire lifts enough to sear it off. I do not notice the hawks above until I see my dog’s muzzle tracking them; the most sky-aware dog I’ve ever seen, heart all witched with things that glide and soar and perch and sing. We move along and bees begin their sorties across our path, seeking the remaining sweetpea and Rose of Sharon, saddlebags packed with gold, hourglass ever before them as they try and outfly the time when frost will sheet their…
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Mystery, Life, Syllables
My dear friend Father James, the Trappist monk who lives at Our Lady of Gethsemani Abbey in Kentucky, has been much on my mind lately. I wrote him this morning and hope to hear back from him soon. He has been having some health problems lately, and at his age, his remaining time is speeding up, is precious, is like the dust on a butterfly’s wing: fine and invaluable. I watched a video about the abbey on Youtube and noticed near the end a series of photos taken in the woods surrounding the monastery. Some of the pictures were taken near Thomas Merton’s (Father Louis’s) hermitage on the grounds there.…
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The Fogs Of August
My mother and grandmother taught me to count the number of foggy mornings during the month of August. The number, they told me gravely, would correspond to the number of snows in the coming winter. I’ve tracked the August fogs more closely since we purchased our little farm here, and while never exact, the ratio of fogs to snows is fairly close. So far this month, we have had nine fogs out of twelve mornings. Last winter was quite mild, and the old-timers in these parts are already beginning to murmur about how “we’re due for a bad, bad winter.” We shall see. I recently re-watched one of my favorite…
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Undertakings
Jinx and I were up before the sun lifted above the fog, and the air was as cool as an August morning’s can be, full of mist and memories and murmurs, and we set out for our stroll. On the way back, the sun pierced the fog and clattered down upon us in arrows and spears, and the birds sensed the change and their cries grew more boisterous and they began to swoop from tree to fence to building to post to rock. The gravel crunched beneath my shoes and a chipmunk scampered across my path, his tail held straight up. Jinx was looking in the other direction and I…
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Mist Will Lift
A coworker who sits next to me at my office tested positive for the Covid-19 thingamajig, so I was required to be tested at a local hospital. It was interesting to note what a ghost town the hospital was. I was expecting squads of harried nurses and doctors to be running up and down the hallways, calling out orders and wheeling lifeless bodies on gurneys and asking for assistance. But the place was all but abandoned. A girl young enough to be my granddaughter performed my test, which, while not especially painful, was markedly unpleasant. She asked me if I was okay when she removed the fourteen foot swab from…