Early Tuesday, afternoon I headed outside to get the mail. I stopped, about forty feet from the road. When I spotted some large, bird tracks that crossed the driveway, south to north.

I followed the tracks to the south, the way they came into my yard, and looked over the fence into my neighbor’s yard.  I couldn’t see where the tracks started from. But, I could see a large number of bird and small animal prints around the trees. I noticed only the large bird had separated from the rest, and walked a four toed pattern under the wooden fence.

I retraced my steps back to the driveway and hesitated. Should I just collect the mail and head back to the house?  No! This was bugging me, that bird could need help.  I decided to follow the bird’s claw prints across the front yard.

 Uriah came over and sniffed at the snow, then followed me.  

I found a couple of feathers. They were stuck in the snow a few feet north of the driveway.  Reddish mottled brown with a soft gray tuff closer to the tip, about two to three inches long, I slipped them into my coat pocket and kept following the tracks in the snow.  They guided me across the front of yard.   That bird had walked a zigzagging pattern, headed north, and kept to the harder packed snow.

I reached the property line on the north end. Slipped between the evergreens and stood on a sizable chunk of plowed up dirt, and stared across the field. Uriah stood next to me and waited.

 I took off my right glove and readjusted my hat.  The temperature was in the lower 30’s, without a wind. I wiggled toes, to check how frozen my feet were, they weren’t cold. And my fingers were still warm. I wasn’t cold at all!  This gave me a reason enough to move on with my quest.

I was thinking the bird might be a hawk and he was hurt. Why else would a bird take a walk?  He could have a broken wing!  Or he may have been clipped by a car driving by too fast!  I shook my head silently. No! If the bird had been hurt I would have seen a blood trail.

It might be a pheasant!  I usually see a few of them running in the snow, or startling me when Uriah flushes them from the tall grass.  Again, I shook my head; the tracks didn’t have lines formed from the birds trailing tail feathers. And this bird had four toes. I thought a Pheasant’s tracks usually showed only the front three toes.   

 I replaced my glove, and made sure my footing was steady. “Well, Uriah, should we head back to the house?  Or…Should we see what type of bird left those tracks?”

 I left it up to Uriah to decide what we did next.

I use my old ski poles as my walking sticks,  I grabbed them both in a way that said I was finished standing around. Then I looked towards my dog. 

Uriah sniffed the ground, glanced up at me and started to walk on ahead. Now he was following the tracks, and I followed him. 

I carefully stepped out on a wash of tiny black icebergs, small points of back earth, which stood out above the snow.

Tracks of coyotes, a fox, and raccoons crossed my trail heading off to the east and west. Tire treads cut through the snow from an off road vehicle, probably the neighbor who I saw on Sunday.  His tracks headed across the road into the farm field. The animal’s prints looked fresh, possible early this morning.  I thought, maybe they were chasing the bird. But no, the tracks crossed each other. I doubt they actually saw one another.

Curiosity had me moving on.   I was beginning to think I was following a drunken chicken

The bird had walked towards a couple of very old, gnarly Oak trees.  Scratched in the snow then turned towards the road, and walked in the ditch, until he headed out on the road.

I called Uriah back, and made him sit. I waited for two cars and a truck to pass by. Once it was clear, I allowed Uriah up and out of the ditch, so he could stand next to me on the blacktop.  I could see that something had been hit by a car recently. It laid still another twenty feet to the north on the opposite side of the road. The car that hit it, had been heading south.

I made sure there wasn’t any traffic in sight. Then, I told Uriah to sit and wait!   I approached the carcass. It was a rooster, a big roster. With a red Comb, or was it a male ring-necked pheasant? No, it looked like a rooster…

It had the shape of a fat chicken. Well sort of.  It was hit by a car!

I kept checking for cars, and took my eyes off Uriah for a second. In that time frame, he walked up to me and stared at the bird. 

I glanced both ways along the road, and then asked Uriah. “Okay, what do you think it is, chicken or pheasant?”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him as I checked the road.  Then I asked. “Okay, Uriah! What do you think it is, chicken or pheasant?”

I don’t think he cared.  But wanting  to get in on the game, he looked at the bird.  Then he looked back at me!  Then back at the bird! I could hear him loud and clear, “Can I take it?  Huh? Come on let me take it!” His eyes sparkled and he started prancing around.  His nails clicked loudly on the frozen blacktop.

I shook my head at him, “No! Let’s get out of the road.”

Uriah followed and only looked back once.

I saw a truck coming at us, really slow.  We had enough time to walk along the road. Then move off the road, in-between the Blue Spruce and the Austrian Pine, at the north end of the front yard.  

The truck turned out to be a farmer and his tractor; he was pulling a couple of swaying grain carts filled with corn. The farmer was very, very slowly making his way down the road. I waved at him. As I check the mail…

Vanilla Heart Publishing will release a new anthology next spring in celebration of Earth Day 2010. The book, “Nature’s Gifts,” (in both e-book and print) will feature fiction, nonfiction and poetry celebrating nature and the natural world.

The fast approaching deadline for submitting manuscripts is December 31, 2009. Click here for submission guidelines.

As a long-time member of The Nature Conservancy, I’m pleased that 50% of the anthology’s profits for the first year of publication will be donated to the Conservancy in support of its Protecting Nature, Preserving Life programs.

Smoky Trudeau, author of the upcoming “Observations of an Earth Mage,” is the anthology’s lead editor. There’s still time to send in your poem, essay, story or article!

Coming Soon!

A review of Nancy Whitney-Reiter’s new book “Now is the time to do what you love.” The book’s subtitle is “How to make the career move that will change your life.”

The book’s description includes the following tempting hook: Millions of people hate their jobs. Nancy Whitney-Reiter used to be one of them. After finding herself in the lobby of the World Trade Center on 9/11—and getting out safely—she quit. She spent a year traveling the world, figuring out who she really was and what she really wanted to do. When it comes to hating jobs, I’ve been there and done that. I wish I’d had some good advice about 20 years ago: I might have started doing what I love a lot sooner!

Whitney-Reiter is also the author of “Unplugged,” a book I thoroughly enjoyed last year.

Christmas Shopping Tip

Here’s the comedy/thriller novel for everyone on your shopping list who’s been naughty:

–Malcolm

Uriah’s nighttime walk was uneventful.

Sunday night  the air was still, the sky held onto an eerie, dark grey along the western horizon.   Northeast, the truck stop’s bright lighting reflects off the clouds in a grayish-yellow haze.  While the town, to the south, lights up the sky with a peachy-grey glow. 

I had turned on the outside light, in the driveway. It illuminated and reflected off the snow in clear sparkles, evenly tossed out like bird seed across the yard.  I walked along the edge of light. And outlined the edge of darkness with my footprints.

Uriah kept bumping against my right leg, and then looked up whining. He wanted a biscuit. He would eat all of them if I let him.

Every time I gave him a treat, I took off my right glove then reached in my pocket. He would sit and watch my hands. “Sorry! I only have one more.  I forgot to fill my pockets tonight.”   

When I told him no more, he sneezed out his complaint and started walking towards the barn.

This time of the year is the safest, for walking along side barn at night.  The grass is covered in snow, and I can’t accidentally sneak up on an animal. I set off around the West side of the barn.  Then circled around back towards the north and made a right turn, along the east side, next to the line of trees. 

From the road an occasional car’s motor interrupted the silence.

For the most part, silence followed us around tonight.

Earlier this morning, our quiet morning walk was interrupted.

The sky, instead of grey, held a pastel blue and purple hue, lined with a pastel peach haze along the horizon. The clouds, though thick and heavy didn’t look like a winter sky, they seemed warmer. I wouldn’t have surprised if it rained. It didn’t.

Someone has a fire going. I love the smell.  Bitter sweet burning wood, drifting silently in the morning air.

Uriah stayed close this morning, all the way around the path.  Until we hit the two thirds point along the north side. That’s when I brought to Uriah’s attention some odd foot prints. They resembled a dog’s print, smaller than his paws.

He walked over to where I pointed, and stuck his nose in the footprint and sniffed.  My daughter told me her dog’s paws smell like corn chips. For a second I wondered what Uriah smelled? His stance changed and the hair on his neck rose and he started running following the tracks, round and round, very happy.

He took off into the trees doing his coon hound impression, a deep, drawn out bark.  

“Uriah!  Get back here!” I yelled! He didn’t listen…

 I knew he would come out of the trees, when I walked off the path.

 Before, I had a chance to take a step. I heard the sound of a motor.  A vehicle was moving slowly along the northern tree line, heading west.

I stood still, and waited.

No one could miss me; I wear a bright orange coat when I go for walks.

The off road, four wheel vehicle passed into a section were the trees thinned. It was one of my neighbors. Not the one directly next door. Our property lines don’t touch at all.

His young son was sitting in back of him, and I saw the covered gun behind the boy… 

I started calling for Uriah. Uriah answered me, and he didn’t come out of the trees. The sound he was making, told me he was found something.

The neighbor, slowed down and stopped his vehicle, and watched me. I called for Uriah again.

The guy started to drive away, slowly.

“Uriah! Get over here now!”  I turned and walked back along the path.

Continually calling for Uriah, I was breathing hard, trying to walk over the heavy snow. My foot slipped. I had to stop for a minute. I couldn’t hear the motor any longer, so I don’t know if he stopped, or kept moving towards the road.

“Uriah… Uriah!”

Now, I stood in the dark. The silence was heavy, the air thick and cold.  This night reminded me of the night after my dog; Zeus was hit by a car, a very similar night, just emptier.  

Uriah barked, then whimpered and nudged my leg for a treat. I ruffed up his furry face and gave him his biscuit…

From an old observatory on the side of Cowles Mountain, waiting for the sun to rise on the day before the winter solstice, my mind was taken up imagining the sentience of things not human – of animals, trees, rocks, mountains, oceans and the earth itself.

If not for the clouds on the horizon when the sun rose this day, a small peak in the distance would have divided the sun into two lights – one north and one south – an appearance created by the tilt and turn of the earth.  To see the daylight come on such days is to witness the emergence of a different solar system.  To see it, one must climb the mountain in darkness to a certain place on the mountain side to wait for the light to come.  The cosmogenesis lasts only a few seconds.  Then the two lights arc and merge into one.

Some say that reality is ongoing cosmogenesis.  Heraclites said something like that:  we cannot step twice into the same river.  Still, when one sees the two suns arc and merge, it is not hard to imagine that the cosmosgenesis is brief and that in a few celestial seconds all will merge into one, and, just as Parmenides said, in spite of appearance, all is one, even now  – not just the sun, but animals, trees, rocks, mountains, oceans and the earth.

The merging of the suns, the tilt and turn of the earth, the cosmogenetic arc that binds us all in life, and the dreams of one waiting in darkness on Cowles Mountain:  there is one sentience.

Everyone was woken up this morning, at seven o’clock, by Kenshin. He ran across the bed.  He pushed aside the vertical blinds. And he pawed at the closed windows. Then he talked and talked, and talked. Siamese talk a lot. They are very vocal cats…

I crawled out of bed and looked out the bathroom window.

  I saw the dark grey sky. I noticed the reddish color of the decks railings were topped with an icing of snow.   And then, I become aware of a slight movement near the bottom section of the deck. I scanned the lower deck for the rats.  I assumed,  the rats must have gotten Kenshin all worked up.  

But, it wasn’t the rat!  It was a very large hawk perched on the railing, just above the rat’s habitat.  This Buteo was not amused! I disturbed him!  It could have been the Red-tailed Hawk…  But, he looked a lot like the Swainson’s hawk that lives around here.

His breast feathers were puffed up, mottled white and reddish orange, mixed in with brown and black.  His deep rich colors blended in with his beige, downy winter feathers.  

The feathers on his head were slick dark, with browns and blacks. I didn’t notice the color of his tail feathers.  They were hidden by the decks railing. And I couldn’t see the color of his eyes. But I felt his gaze when he turned his head slightly.  He ruffled his feathers, in an irritated matter. His beak was hooked and sharp, thick and dark in color.

His stance was of pride.  A Buteo!  It radiated from him. He was beauty.  Beyond everything that was around him. He lived in this moment.

 I wished that I could be that self-assured, and free… There is irony in that word, “free.”

While he watched me, I saw a flicker of concern flash over his eyes. He stretched out his wings and jumped, and glided effortlessly along the ground.  Then he swooped upward into the trees.

I watched him spin and settle on a thin branch.  I immediately thought of how this hawk lost another nesting tree.

The past few days, the air has held a sweet, woody scent. Yesterday I saw what made that smell.

A few miles from my home, there is a grove of Oak trees.  Their ages ranged from seventy to hundred-fifty years old, craggily towering giants.

 I drove past those old trees yesterday and I saw empty spaces and tree stumps.  The Oaks were being cut down. I saw neatly stacked coffins waiting to be carted away.

Why cut down the trees during an ecological crisis?  Shouldn’t we be conserving nature? 

I find all this all very heartbreaking.  

A few hours later, I stepped  out on my deck. The clouds hung heavy and grey.  

In that muffled, snow covered silence.  I heard the hawk’s high pitch screech…

*

 Today, I reached my 2,000th  hit on my site today..Thank you guys! Comment and ask me to add you to my BlogRoll:-)

You can hear the call of the Swainson’s hawk, and other birds here;

http://identify.whatbird.com/obj/44/_/Swainsons_Hawk.aspx

I stepped outside on the deck and watched the snow gently float to the ground; everything was covered with a wispy cloud of white.

 Perception and location is everything when snow gazing. Mere inches in front of my face, gigantic flakes drifted quickly down to earth. There were hand sized spaces between each one.

 Farther out in the yard the snow came down smaller, compact and fast, with hardly enough room for the tip of a pencil to fit between each flake.  The Bog Willows and apple trees looked as though they were caught in a snow globe snowstorm.

I stared upwards into the fast, falling snow.  I watched large flakes rapidly falling towards me, looking like bright stars as they fell from the grey-white sky. They touched my face with a stinging cold, and held onto my eyelashes and hair.

Before I stepped back into the house, I stomped my feet on the outside welcome mat.  Kenshin, our two year old Siamese mix, rushed up to the door as I entered.  I pushed him back and stepped into the kitchen.  He stared up at me with his blue eyes. Then he turned and rubbed against my leg, the wall, the door, and the kitchen table leg.

I reached down and scooped him up.  “What’s up, Kenshin? You want to see outside?”  I asked, then reopened the inside glass door, but not the outside screen.

He was quiet in my arms, as we stood there watching the snowflakes drifting to the ground.

There wasn’t a wind.  Each flake drifted slowly on a downward path, one after another. Hundreds of puffy crystalline flakes piled up on the wooden deck.

With one paw, Kenshin reached out and touched the screen. He loves snow.  I slipped my shoes back on, held him tightly and opened the screen door, then stepped outside.

Kenshin immediately started to thunder purr, vibrating my arms as I held him tight.   Carefully, I walked over to the garden table, which sat outside year-round. 

 Kenshin rolled over in my arms so he faced the sky.  When he realized I was near the table, he twisted and leaped from my arms, landing in the center of the snow covered table.  Instantly, he rolled over and over covering himself with snow.  Then laid quietly on his back and watched the snow drift down on him. 

Being a very active cat, that immobility lasted a whole-one-minute.  Then he began batting at the flakes and purred even louder.

I laughed!  His cheeks puffed up in a grin.

The snow was falling faster.  Kenshin got some in his eyes, and on his nose.  He was not happy with that! Within a split second, he leapt upwards, turned his feet towards the ground and landed in the middle of the table.  Within that same moment, he slid to the floor and scampered under the table.  From there, he batted at the clumps of snow left behind from my shoes.

Deep into his insane mode, Kenshin slid around the deck like a hockey player chasing a puck.

Quickly, I moved over to the stairs and sat on the top step.  I waited for him to make a break. I would never be able to catch him if he got down the steps.

He can leap straight up in the air nearly five feet, when he gets crazed. Like he was now!   He moves at lightning speeds.  He also loves dogs. And with the overcast sky, I can bet we were being watched from the trees.  I wasn’t going to give him a chance at getting passed me, and into the yard.

Suddenly, Kenshin jumped up and twisted in mid-air, then slid in my direction.   He wasn’t happy when I grabbed him in mid-slide. 

Holding onto the railings, I moved slowly back into the house. Kenshin decided to lie in my arms upside down so he could bat at a few more flakes.

I put him down on the rug next to the door, and he took off fast. He slid on his hind quarters through the living room, then down the hall and back again. He was jumping and flipping crazily from the snow melting on his back.

I brought him a hard packed snowball and rolled across the floor.  He grabbed it with his paws and took off for the goal line…

I opened the vertical blinds and sat down at my computer and started typing. Tomoe my husband’s cat, silky black with yellow green eyes, saunter into the room. She called out with a cheerful chirping hello, and rubbed against my legs.  With one fluid leap, she was up on the desk and staring out the east window into the dog kennel.

She was sitting there only for a few minutes when she started making odd noises, a cross between a sneeze and a cough. I never heard her make that noise before.  She was staring intently out the window.

 I leaned over her to look outside; a rat was climbing the chain link fence attached to the dog kennel. Right next to the window!  It was weaving in and out of the holes.  He stopped and looked straight at me and continued its upward climb.  Then he crawled along the top of the cage.  Again, he stopped and leaned forward hanging upside down like an acrobat on a trapeze. Here’s the kicker!  He was looking in the window at me, looking at him….

Tomoe was shaking with excitement. I grabbed her, “Come on sweetie, let’s head up stairs and get mommy some coffee” She leaned backwards, and looked towards the window as I quickly carried her out the room.

Once in the kitchen, I pulled out my coffee cup and set it on the counter.  Tomoe had gone over to the sliding glass doors, and stuck her head between the vertical blinds, trying to look outside.

“Hang on, I’ll open them for you.” She made her little squeaking excited sounds and glided around my legs as I pulled the cord and opened the blinds.

Tomoe started pawing at the glass. I looked outside on the porch and saw that rat was climbing up the deck.  He ran over to the sliding door, looked right at me and stood on his hind legs….

I was not amused! Tomoe was ecstatic! Her happy sounds brought, PJ and her brother Kenshin running into the kitchen.  They all sat at the window, tails flipping with excitement, staring at the rat.  Who in turn, was stared at them.  I smiled, all they needed was popcorn!

A couple of years ago, somewhere around Christmas, I had made a big bowl of popcorn I didn’t finish. So in the spirit of giving, I took that popcorn out back with me, when I went for a walk. I sprinkled it under a large tree at the east end of the path. I assumed that with it being under the tree, an animal, or bird could safely eat it. A good deed for the holiday, feed the starving birds….

Come on! No laughing from the peanut gallery!

Well, I thought it was a great plan! The next day I walked out back expecting to find the popcorn gone.

Around the base of that tree it looked like a war zone!

Yes, animals and birds came to eat the popcorn. What I forgot, is this wasn’t a watering hole in Africa. Drink your fill and move on. Those rules don’t apply here.

Whoever showed up must have thought I set out a Smörgåsbord. There were feathers, parts of wings, odd bones, and fur, and drops of blood everywhere.

The popcorn was gone…

So, standing here today,  with that little rat staring at me through the door had me thinking.  I should pull out the popcorn maker and set up a pile of popcorn in the middle of the yard.

What do you think I should do?

I live near a small town. I am two and a half miles out of town into farm country. The town was built on a lower section of land and its only 5 sq. miles.   So when the winds are blasting my home, the  town has a nice breeze.

  Only once, that I can recall, in the past fourteen years did the town get hit ‘hard’ with heavy winds.

It was a couple of years ago; I was heading into the small grocery store.  As I walked into the store, I could hear the townspeople talking about the winds.

 (Townspeople that word sounds like they have torches and pitchforks and are shooing out the monsters)

“How horrible!”  I heard, as I moved up and down the aisles.  

“Have you ever seen anything like this? “ Someone else asked me, as I stood paying for my groceries. 

Now, I didn’t want to start a conversation that sounded like I was in kindergarten. My winds are stronger than your winds, type of argument. Instead I held up my hand, palm towards her, in a signal for her to wait a minute.  I walked outside the store, a few seconds later I came back in and answered.  I said, “Seen worse.”  

A farmer was in the line behind her, he just nodded in agreement.

She looked confused.  I got a good look at myself in the front window. My hair was standing on end. Smiling to myself I collected my groceries and walked out the door.   

I check online for the daily temperatures. Then, I step outside to see if the winds are blowing.

 Or if it is summer… or is the sun shining?  Or not!  

In town they also have more tree coverage. All this gives them a slightly warmer winter temperatures than where I am at, just mere two and half miles ‘down the road.’ 

 Heavy sigh!

What does all that mean?  Well, when the temperature online is 11 degrees above zero. Like it is right now! Where I’m at it’s … 5 degrees.  Heat wave!

It will get colder….

 Years ago, I made a bright yellow garden sign with this poem;

“Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.”

~John Ruskin

Yesterday morning I was outside early. The air was heavy with moisture.  A thick fog made visibility nearly impossible. The temperatures had risen enough that the snows had deflated. Still, that sheet of white stretched across the yard, patterned with footprints, then disappeared into the haze.

Uriah happily ran ahead of me, he kept his nose in the snow and pushed it along.  I examined one of his ‘nose prints’ and saw a maze of trails filtering under the snow.  

Chipmunks rarely showed their faces in the winter, they keep low and hidden. These are their trails.  With the help of Uriah’s’ nose and the melting snow the tunnels were caving in.

Under that white snow, everything was slippery slushy, grey and wet, which made my ability to walk a little hazardous. 

I made a number of mistakes yesterday. The first was going for a walk past the backyard…

I grabbed the mate to my solitary ski pole and started off across the yard.  Even using both ski poles as if I had on cross county skis, my feet slipped.  

Next mistake, I wasn’t wearing boots.  By the time walked back into the house, my gym shoes had soaked up a lot of cold water.

My feet were frozen and my back was screaming. I told myself to stop, stand where I was and let Uriah come to me..

I stood off near the deck, and watched those rats climb over the live trap. They ran in and out and stepped on the trigger pad. Never setting it off!   I need to declare war on these rodents, before they get out of hand!

Uriah came and sat next to me. He started to whine when he saw a rat poke its head out a hole. It had its own maze of tunnels under the snow.  The differences between the rat and the chipmunk; I hardly ever see a chipmunk in the winter. These rats, when they feel the vibration of my footsteps they stick their heads out and say, “Hello, feed me!”

Later today I will set up the live trap with birdseed farther away from the deck, in the open. I can hope, that the freezing weather won’t stop the hawk from hunting.

One way or another…  Their days are numbered; at least that is what my husband said.  He bought a couple of rat traps.

What a difference a few hours can make..

I had an appointment in Algonquin. Anytime I’m in that area, I stop by the, Borders Books, and get cup of hot coffee at, Seattle’s Best Coffee café.  I sat, read and bought myself a treat, a slice of chocolate peppermint loaf cake.  My favorite things, books, chocolate, peppermint and coffee, all I needed was a lap top and I would have been in heaven.  *Now I mentioned this, because it was nice and warm.*

By 9 o’clock that evening, I was once more standing outside with my dog. Freezing!

“Okay, Uriah! Go do your business!”  In order for you to get the full effect, imagine each word spoken haltingly. Add some strong freezing winds, and an epithet, or two. 

I have to admit, with the snow rock hard, walking was a lot easier than earlier in the day. 

I looked over at the live trap, it sat open and all the bird seed was missing.

I sighed heavily, shivered, and shook my head. Then laughed at the irony, when the winds triggered the trap and the door snapped shut…

I’m standing by the open door looking outside; the screen is closed so my cats don’t escape.   The sun is coming up and I can’t see it.

 Outside the sky is a solid blanket of bluish grey and white, seamlessly blending into the snow on the ground.   Shadows of dark browns and black make up the trees and bushes.

The air is very still. I could hear water running through the rain gutters and dripping off the deck from the melting snow. In a musical sound that a dripping water faucet can never emulate. 

I pick up my old cat; PJ, he is fourteen years young.  He rubs my chin in greeting then turns his attention to the outside cold air, and listens.  Just the tip of his bushy dark grey tail flips, twitching incessantly.   I could feel his heart pounding.   His whole body stiffens and his ears rotate forward. He is listening.

I strain to hear what he hears.  Nothing!   The only thing I perceive is the silence and melting snow.   

For PJ, there is something out there! Under my hands I feel his muscles tighten. He sits a little taller in my arms.   His breathing slows down. He cocks his head to the right, and then leans into me. I set him down next to the  door. He turns, ignoring the screen door with its inviting outdoor smells.   For him, the safety of being on this side of the screen is over ridden by whatever is outside. He runs away from the door.  Without a backwards glance at me, he disappears under my bed.

“Silly, PJ!” I mock him, and then look back outside, wondering.

Uriah starts to whine. He knows I am awake and wants out.

I reach for the door; I just start to close it, when one of the black shadows in the field next door, moves.  It hesitates when I look straight at it.  I close the door and quietly look out the window.

Now I am waiting, watching the field.

The dark figure rises from the snow again, and moves off towards the east. Two other dark spots stand up and turn towards the house. They stop for a good minute, or so. The hairs on my neck are standing on end. 

Positioning myself at the window, I watch their darkness blend into the trees.

PJ let out one ‘Meow’ from under the bed. Then he stuck his head out.  How does he know they are gone? Or was he just reacting to the door being closed?  

Slipping out from under the bed, PJ walked nonchalantly over to me. All the while informing me in cat speak, “He wasn’t hiding, he was just checking for dust bunnies!”

 By the look of the fuzz on his head he found some…

 Laughing, I pick him up heading towards the kitchen. “Come on PJ! We need to hunt for our breakfast.”

He purred loudly…

This  fantastic sound I found on Youtube.

Donkey Kong Country Piano Water Theme Music

It was nearly two in the afternoon, when took my walk.  The temperatures had risen today. It was close to 35 degrees.

 I stood out on the path in the middle of the lowest spot, along the drainage tile. I was surrounded by heavy snow that crunched with each step I took.  My heels sunk into the wet snow and my toes followed with a rubbery sound, similar to rubbing your fingers across the outside of blown up balloon.  

 I felt I was shrinking! An optical illusion as the trees towered above.  

The sky directly overhead was void of clouds.  

While the horizon itself, was painted with a smooth, dark grayish, blue color.  

Furrows of lighter colored clouds stretched upward from that darkness, and meandered in soft lines. They swirled upward, round and round, lighter and lighter until the clouds broke apart.  

Everything pulled together like a tassel at the top of a hat.

All that soft brightness reflected off the surrounding clouds, with a very pale washed out center of whitish blue.  

I felt as if I were spectator, sitting in a cozy chair in a planetarium.

Everywhere I looked, the clouds followed that spherical path, up and out.

Two flocks of geese approached from the northwest and  flew over my house.   The first group, a wedge, flew in a ‘V’ formation.  The second flock flew a straight line, a skein, like a tail of a kite trailing last.

 I watched the geese turn and head southeast.  Both groups merged into the wedge, one wide ‘V’ formation. They flew in a wide circle.   I watched them fly directly towards the east, then turn sharply and head back north.  All the while honking and talking like a group of teenage girls.

I moved on up the path. I dragged my feet through the snow, so I wouldn’t slip. I noticed I wasn’t the only one who walked this way in the past twenty-four hours.

The white snow was marred by multiple foot prints, coyotes, opossums, rats, rabbits, deer and raccoons. 

Mother Nature must have had a big party last night.

Corn cobs were scattered under the trees and stripped of their hard kernels. The animal that ate that corn was very patient. The hull was peeled and eaten.  Remnants scattered around like peanut shells.

Off in the distance I could hear the motorized high pitch whine of a snowmobile.  It rose in pitch, lowered then rose up again, over and over. I couldn’t see the vehicle. But, it sounded like someone was having fun as they raced in the fields.

Heavier clouds were moving in, I called for my dog and we headed back home..

All autumn I have mourned the passing of summer, missing the feeling of warmth, the bright light, the long days and slow sunsets – signs of eternity. Only when autumn is nearly past do I admire it too.

Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote,

“The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past—there is a harmony
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which through the summer is not heard or seen,
As if it could not be, as if it had not been!”

Surely Shelley is right : there is a harmony in autumn and a lustre in its sky.” Still, I wish he had not compared autumn with summer, nor even mentioned summer. The pronoun “it” in the phrase “is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been” must refer, I reassure myself, to “harmony in autumn, and a lustre in its sky, but appearing just after the word “summer,” my thoughts go back to summer. I miss summer.

I don’t want to think that summer “could not be.” On these cold wet days at the end of autumn it is indeed “as if it had not been.”

Happy Chanukah

To all my Jewish Friends!

Yawning, I glanced out the window.  Ice crystals had formed on the outside of the window, my breath steamed up the inside of the glass.

This morning the sun was shining brightly, and diamonds glittered off the pristine white snow. I stood there for a moment, shivered, as I admired the designs in the snow. It looked as though someone had dropped pebbles in water and the white ripples froze in place. They  seemed to appear randomly throughout the yard.  I knew the patterns were formed by very cold ground winds as they jumped from one high patch to the next.

Outside temperature was 0 degrees…

Inside the house I heard the winds howling as they moved under the eves and around the chimney, and then tried to push in through the gaps in the old windows.  I heard the sound of the deck popping from the cold. The boards were freezing.

I grabbed an old purple sweatshirt, pulled it on over my head and shuffled to the kitchen.   Before I do anything I need my morning coffee, at least a sip.  

 A short time later I was standing out at the end of the driveway in three feet of snow. Not too bad, considering yesterdays snow fall. This was soft; at least the snow blower might be able to plow through this.  It will be slow going. All that snow I couldn’t remove yesterday was frozen solid and lined the driveway in slippery uneven miniature icebergs.  

I lowered my scarf from my face and allowed the blast of cold to hit me straight on. It felt like my eyes froze. Ouch!

I made sure no cars were coming and stepped out of the drive looking down the road to the north. The street was a slick, sheet of ice. Then to the south where it was patchy, strips of ice and blacktop.

The winds raced across the road at ground level.  It looked as though someone had put dry ice in the ditch for miles in both directions. A snowy mist poured over the ditch onto the road, and raced along the ground to the other side.  

It did look a bit eerie.

I started laughing, my imagination was running wild, “Keep to the road, don’t walk in the moors, the werewolves will get you!”   Oh! That would look great! Trying to out run anything in this cold would have to happen in slow motion- by both parties.

The cold had to be freezing my brain!  There was no other explanation…

The tips of my fingers were hurting; I curled my hands up in my gloves.

Uriah paced in the snow, lifting one paw then the other. His head was covered in snow. He had been rolling in a snow drift.

“Come on, Uriah! Let’s go back in where it’s warmer.”

The vibrations from the snowblower moved up my arms into my neck. Then crawled down my back and settled in my feet, Pushing the sound and movement back into the ground so it could make its rounds again. Sputtering and choking the machine moved slowly, with me at the helm, though the slush and snow towards the front of the driveway.

I stopped and looked around for my dog; he was off near the pond his head buried in a snowbank as he tried to flush out a rabbit.

 “Hey stupid,” I pulled off my right glove and placed it in my left hand. Then I tried to straighten my knit hat, which sat crooked on my head and covered my eyes and not my ears. 

Uriah looked up.

“Go kill a rat!”  I ordered, and pointed to the left, towards his kennel.

Instead he grinned, a wide doggie grin and started madly digging.

I put back on my glove and held onto the right handgrip, which rotated the auger. My left hand controlled the self-propulsion controls.

Once more, I started the snowblower on its slow tedious path towards the road. The auger pulled in chunks of slush and ice, then pushed it though the impeller up and out of the discharge chute. It should have been thrown out wide onto the side of the driveway. Instead it sort of ‘crapped’ it out, which is what will happen to the blower if I overtax the motor.  

My hat slipped back over my eyes, and my feet slid on the icy slush, still I followed what I thought was the line of the drive.  But, when I looked up, then back.  I saw my path was a drunken line. 

At least it was warmer outside than I thought, just on the other side of thirty degrees. A heat wave!

Uriah came up next to me and sat his butt on the cleared section of blacktop. I stopped walking.  

“What?” I smiled at him, “Oh!  I see you came by to take over for me, right?”

He wiggled and barked at me, then looked directly at my pocket.

I took off my right glove and put my hand in my pocket.  I pulled out the small square-ish stone I had placed in there yesterday.

“You don’t want this.” I held out the rock so Uriah could sniff it.  

He sneezed and looked disappointed.

I slipped the rock back in my pocket and pulled out a milk bone, he jumped up and barked.  I tossed the biscuit towards the pond. Slipped back on my glove, and started the slow, walk with, Chopin’s Funeral March Sonata, stuck in my head.  I didn’t turn around to see if Uriah found the biscuit.

I was forty feet from the road when the winds hit.  A blast of cold air pushed me slightly backwards. I steadied the blower and moved forward.

The farm field across the road looked white and grey. Winds whipped up the fallen and falling snow and threw it at me. 

 Dark brown tree branches were coated white with the frozen snow.  As the winds moved around the trees, they sounded like a thick glass full of marbles being shaken. 

I pulled my scarf around my face and over my nose.  

Patiently, I waited until the cars on the road had passed by.  Then I stepped out onto the edge of the driveway.   I tried to clear the  mound of packed snow that the snow plow had dumped on the end of the drive. I glanced at my black mail box it was covered half way in ice, and slush. It was standing! It was a good day! 

Every time I spotted a car, I pulled back and waited. The drivers in this area seem to think bad weather means drive faster and pass everyone, even in the no passing zone.   

That’s the reason my mailbox ended up in the ditch -multiple times last winter!

 I took off my right glove again, and straightened my hat, yet again.  I watched as the winds pick up more force and shove the snow into drifts on and across the road.

I live on a stretch of road called, tornado alley. I can literally watch the winds as they gust across the road. Right now, that heavy wind was near the northern section of that road. It moved like a horizontal tornado.

I could see the line of winds pushing across the fields; Old Man Winter with his cheeks puffed out, a twinkle in his eye laughed like a madman. 

The cars passed.  I started my slow walk back down the drive, as my face froze, and the winds played tag with the blowing snow…

Written on December 7^th, 2009~

 Earlier this morning when I took my dog out for a walk, the air was a mist of grey fog. The sun was a haze in the early morning sky. When I first glanced up, I thought the Sun was the Moon, defused in the grey mist and entangle in the dense cloud cover. My breath and the fog were inseparable.  

It had snowed during the night. Everything was covered in white. Each branch was coated, in a perfect holiday photo shoot. The ground was frozen so even the driveway was paved white.

I stayed near the house, and planned on walking out back later in the day.

It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon by the time I decided to take a walk. The snow was no longer coating the trees. Only lines of snow zigzagged across the lawn   

Uriah took off in the trees, angrily barking.  He reappeared in front of me, only to follow the tracks of a grey squirrel. Whose residence is in the trees at the beginning of the path.

 The air was cold yet tolerable. I had forgotten my gloves back by the house and my fingers weren’t freezing, so I was happy. I started walking to the right, where the ground moves upward on a slight incline. Directly in the center of the path a small, three inch evergreen had taken root. I never saw it before.  I made a mental note to remember and check on it in spring.  If it really was growing on the path I’ll need to transplant it.

 I continued on my way. When I reached the far back and started to circle home, I stopped to admire the old farm house and its red barn, equally sized white Silos and smaller buildings all built up together like a castle, the surrounding grass and turned over fields, patterned shades of brown, yellow, green, and beige.  The sections were the last rain fell washed the dirt to a dark black.  White snow striped the empty corn fields.

I could see for miles…  

Faded green grass still stood out in the farmer’s air field. Along the air field, past forty acres of plowed fields, I watched Black Angus cows. They moved slowly into a fenced in field. 

Off to the northeast, I could see helicopter hovering in the direction of the express way.

Uriah started to bark, as  I walked  back, I kept calling  his name, and he kept answering by barking- not by appearing.

I reached the part of the path, that was directly across from where I saw the little evergreen, at the beginning of my walk.  I stopped and poked the dirt with my ski pole, it gave way. I called to Uriah each call I stabbed the pole at the dirt, I hit a rock!

Curiosity got the better of me.  I stood there digging out this little rock, which lay just under the dirt and field grass. It was a slight tipsy square flat rock, to my eye it was nearly perfect. With the thought of crafting something, maybe checkers.  I slipped it into my pocket as Uriah barked again.

At that point I looked down, and found another little evergreen growing on the path.

The grass all around me had given up trying to reach for the sky and laid level with the ground, sleeping until spring.   I walked back a few feet searching for more of the little saplings. I found six more going in the center of the path.

Uriah’s barking became more agitated; I started walking back towards home. Every few feet I called him and he answered back, I felt like I was playing ‘Marco Polo’ with him.

Yesterday  morning,  I was up with the sun. I opened the window blinds next to the computer, the window that faces east and I watched the sunrise.  A blanket of Altostratus clouds covered half the sky, rippling from the sunset towards the west.

  Along the horizon a narrow strip of pinkish, reddish, sunrise slipped through the break in the clouds and spread upwards, weaving under and over the clouds.  Then peeked out to outline the ripple of clouds in a yellow, white, and pink tinge, all the while the clouds raced, from west to east, along the southern skyline.

Kenshin, my half Siamese male, jumped effortlessly onto the windowsill. He settled his hind legs, with a wiggle, positioning himself on the ledge.  The tip of his tail flipped as he stared outside.

Kenshin’s sister, Tomoe, jumped up next to him in perfect pantomime.  With a flip of her tail she sat beside him. Her shining black fur rolled in irritation.   They both turned, two set of eyes followed my every move, his light blue and her bright gold eyes.   

 Loosing interest in me, they turned back to the window and watched a rat hopping around the outside kennel.  Their mouths quivered.  An odd sound came from both of them. He made a high pitch growling meowing sound. She kept opening and closing her mouth with a smacking sound. They both stared out the window, then back at me, willing me to open the window so they could do what cats do best…  Hunt!

“No, Kenshin! No, Tomoe, I have to trap those rats myself.” 

I don’t know if they understood what I said, or just got tired of wishing after a rat,  when I added, “No outside!” They both jumped down, and Kenshin gave me downward frown.  Tomoe just glared, as she flashed those golden eyes.   They both ran out of the room giving me a backward, scowl. A teenage girl couldn’t have done that look any better.  

One rat, was an irritation, I counted six! They aren’t big. About the size of my hand, but they have to go!  Just figuring out how is the problem.

 I Googled, “How to kill a rat humanely.”

One site said, use poison.  Nope not an option!  I don’t want to kill the Hawks and Owls that hunt around here. Beside the obvious, poison can kill my cat or dog if they eat the dieing rat.

If a poisoned rat gets caught in the walls, Well, that smell will be horrible. I  wondered what would happen if it died, lying on the dirt of my garden and I didn’t see it until spring. Wouldn’t that poison leach into the soil? Big, emphatic, “Yes”  answers that question.

 I found, ‘Rat Zappers.’ on Amazon.  Electrocute the rat starting at forty dollars and up. I checked my purse, no money, on to the next idea.

I found a site, that had the stomp and squish method- it says it all.

There is the bee bee gun method. I looked at the windows and the chain link fence and saw how that could go wrong.

The best, economical rat trap is a cat.  If the rat stays outside, and my cats stay only indoors, they won’t come in direct contact with each other.  But if they ever come inside, they will be used as a squeaky toy. The proximity factor just knocked Kenshin and Tomoe out of the equation. 

I have a live catch trap in the barn. I decided that would be the best first try, for now. Besides I won’t need to pay for the supplies.

I headed for the barn, and dug out the trap and placed it in Uriah’s kennel. I put some of his food on the inside platform, which in theory is suppose to close the door when the rat steps on it.  That’s the plan.

“The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men Go often askew,” ~ Robert Burns’s poem, ‘To a Mouse.’

I had three rats in the cage; they were walking all over that platform. And it never triggered the cage door…

I went back outside and tried to loosen the piece of metal.  Then I placed a board across the platform, with food perched on top.

I went back into the house and watched. Not one of those rats came near the cage. I will leave the trap outside all night.

I just hope I don’t catch a skunk…

I got my 1,000 hit on my site today..Thank you guys! Comment and ask me to add you to my BlogRoll:-)

Photo by Rebecca Novak~ http://www.examiner.com/x-14505-Atlanta-Pet-Health-Examiner?showbio

After midnight on December 6, 2009, I couldn’t help myself. I had the lights out in the kitchen and I stared out onto the dark moonlit lawn. I felt a need to stand outside, in the dark, in the cold, alone.

The deck held that silvery glow that lit up the yard, and ironically darkened the shadows even more.  Ice glittered, scattered around the deck, haphazardly, always with one of the floor boards frosted with snow, seemly standing guard over the shimmering silver.  The railings on the north side were frosted white, while the east balustrade bathed in light as the wood showed through.

Wrapping my robe tighter around my waist I slipped outside. I should go in and grab my coat, but I had the feeling if I did I would miss out.  The moon would disappear behind a cloud and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy this second.

 So I stayed.  Shivering I walked to the edge of the deck.  I looked upward, at the waning gibbous moon sitting in that hypnotic sky glowing white.  The sky around it was a dark, dark blue grey.  Farther east, the skyline glowed into a whitish, grayish, and peach, with streaks of grey cloud rising above the horizon everything was standing still. The sky was dotted with stars, only the brightest competed with the moon light.  

The constellation Cassiopeia, was sitting brightly in the west earlier tonight. Somewhere around seven PM,  I had been standing out in the driveway, staring at the sky, as I waited for my dog.  At that time, I couldn’t even see the moon, it rose late.  Now, I’m facing east and the stars and the moon are above me, bathing everything in silver light.

I heard a large animal moving around inside the trees. The wood of the Bog Willows snapped, as it moved none too gently though them. I told myself it was a deer, and continued to stand on the deck.  

The white snow glowed on the lower deck, in the grass, the burn pile, and painted patches skimmed in and out of the shadows throughout the yard. Slipping under the trees and crossing the fence line into the plowed fields.

The trees were black marks in the shadows. Beyond them I could see the glow of farm houses, crossing acres of farm fields.  The closest farm to the northeast had a blinking red light, a warning beacon for the farmer, for when he flew his Cessna in the dark. The further away the farms were, the less bright the lights.  Most only had on their outside night lights to keep away the wild animals.

The faint smell of manure and hay, wafted around the cold, still air. Night air has a different scent, at least for me, so completely different than the daylight hours. The night holds excitement, adventure! A need to explore! Possibilities move in-between the shadows. My wander lust kicks in…

I shivered. I didn’t want to step back in the house; this was too beautiful to turn away from. I told myself, just a few more minutes.  I looked back up into the sky, I got lost, as the ground disappeared and the stars pulled me upward…

I walked outside to a world powdered over with white, white snow, and a pale blue cloudless sky.

 The day was bight and quiet or so I thought. I didn’t slip or slide when I reached the path, which was no longer muddy, but covered in a thin layer of white.  The mud underneath was frozen it gave slightly as I walked; foot prints from yesterday were set in place. The beige grass waved in a greeting.

 Uriah kept whining at my side until I reached in my pocket and gave him one of his biscuits. Then he heard a sound and took off in the trees.

I walked quickly around the path, alone; my thoughts of a warm cup of coffee waiting for me in the kitchen stopped me from enjoying this moment.

I dragged my feet around trees and under the bushes.  I hurried past the dip in the ground, used as a runoff from flood waters; today it was empty, except for dried foliage strewn around.   Rocks and dirt spilled out of the muskrats burrows, frozen and covered in snow. 

I stepped into a pile of snow covered leaves. Sounds changed at that point. I heard the squeak of packed snow as I walked and the crisp sound of the leaves hidden under that snow.

 I stopped took off my knit hat and looked up into the sky, and listened.

A breeze, soft, and easy drifted around my legs and into the tall grass. Then it rustled along the ground, picking up speed, until the air moved in a sweeping fashion, and shifted upwards.  

My eyes were drawn to the tops of four trees; they still had a few dried leaves clinging to the top most branches. They glistened with ice and rustled, the sound rose, then drifted to silence as the wind moved on across the fields.

I closed my eyes and waited.  Listening patiently for…?

 I heard the wind moving towards me in a billowing roll. It was if the Maestro had walked up to the podium, raised both hands for silence towards the Orchestra.

 Everything stopped! Not a sound! Not a bird!  Not a bit of grass moved. Until his hand moved in the downward beat and the Orchestra started playing.  

Winds rolled over the fields. Sound amplified and increased in pitch. It was if the wind was given instruction to play, and enticed the birds to join in. They fluttered in the trees, waiting their turn. I imagined fairies and gnomes dancing on that wind.  

Trees limbs slipped against each other making sweet, higher pitch sounds of a flute. The sounds whispered, and then stopped.  After a few seconds, a melody was taken up by a small bird. His solo ended and the wind gently rustled the dry grass, applauding.   

I heard the heavy muffled roll, as a new gust of wind traveled above my head bringing everyone into play.

 Then silence…   I whispered to the wind, “Bravo.” 

I heard Uriah fussing about in the trees, I called for him.   “Uriah, you’re that one person in the audience that won’t be quiet”

He ran out at me, and promptly sat at my feet.

“To late the concert is over.” 

I headed back to the house, no longer in a hurry…

 A snap shot:

Eleven AM; I was sitting at my computer when Uriah starts to bark. He was outside in the kennel, which is outside the window next to my computer.

There are two windows in the room where I do my writing. One faces south. When I look through that window I can see a lattice wooden fence, my neighbor’s barn, an odd amount of leafless trees, a Blue Spruce, Mulberry tree, one small Lilac bush. Add in an expanse of grass in-between me, and all those things I just described.  Also, outside that southern facing window, to the left, is an old rosebush.

The second window faces east.

I am in a room on the lower level of the house.  So when I look out any of the windows, I look straight ahead, nearly ground level.

That east facing window has a space of about three feet between the window and Uriah’s outdoor kennel.  Which is constructed with sections of, four or six foot wide chain link fencing. I believe the dimensions are twelve by eight feet.

The kennel gate is on the north side.  A piece of wooden fencing is also connected to that section, on the outside, next to the gate. 

The Southern section, across from the gate, also has wooden fencing covering about three fourths of the chain link.  Above the kennel is the deck. The extra wood blocks some of the wind, rain and snow.  

Uriah has a dog igloo made of heavy plastic, or PVC- I am guessing at what it’s made of.  The ground is paved with light colored bricks.

When I look out the east window, I can see right into Uriah’s kennel, and he can see me at the computer.

Because of the chain link fencing, I can look directly through his kennel, straight onto the vegetable garden, which is about forty feet long; to be exact I would have to measure. Not today..

 Beyond the garden is the lawn. The lawn stretches out to the old apple trees, then onto the old evergreens.  Behind those sixty foot trees, starts the walking path.

Uriah started barking; I stood up and looked out the window. The snow was coming down heavy, big puffy white flakes.  Uriah was wagging his tail and looking east, out over the garden. For a second, I thought he was barking at the rat that steals his food.

 I saw the rat, standing in the garden on his hind legs, eating one of Uriah’s milk bone biscuits…

I blinked, trying to focus on the rat. Instead, what I saw was a coyote standing at the edge of the garden.

This all seemed surreal to me. I was watching Uriah and the coyote. The coyote was watching the rat, The rat was watching me.   Uriah was still barking at the coyote.

All I needed at that point was for one of my cats to wake up, and jump up on the windowsill.

This would make a great children’s’ book…Unless someone got hurt.

December 2^nd, 2009. I have had this Blog up one month, today. And I enjoyed writing every post. There aren’t any free downloads to commemorate the occasion, just this new Blog post. Enjoy! I love to hear your comments, or just say, ‘Hi,’ as you pass through.

Be careful don’t step in a muskrat hole! 

Today may be overcast and slightly cooler than yesterday, with the temperatures in the forties.  For some reason it just doesn’t feel cold to me.

As I walked around the back path, I stopped and listened to the small, black and grey, birds they fluttered and chirped angrily at me in the trees. These little guys jump around so fast and keep inside the tree branches it is hard to see specific markings. I will keep guess and searching for their names. Chickadee, maybe, they are in the order of Passeriformes.

Uriah kept his nose to the ground pointing out each new muskrat hole and scat droppings. I called to him and he sat at my side.

I closed my eyes and listened to the wind. That’s when I realized the breeze was moving in low from the Northwest, but along the ground. My coat fluttered and I felt the gentle breeze on my chin, and that’s where it stopped. The low grass rustled, but not the taller, dried beige tops of the Goldenrod. This wind was skimming the ground, sneaking around the base of the trees, chasing pieces of corn husks, and an odd leaf or two.

Sounds were muffled; I opened my eyes and looked up at the grey overcast sky. Today’s cloud cover  pulled in a heavy, thick silence, that precedes a storm, rain or snow.

I heard a motorized buzzing, I looked up and around. From the east, a small helicopter flew towards me, high above the plowed fields.  I watched as it approached, and passed overhead quickly.

When I looked down Uriah was gone. Little bugger! I couldn’t hear him nosing around anywhere and I wasn’t in the mood to start calling for him. I decided to continue on with my walk, he will find me this time.

I took my time walking back and as I hoped, Uriah was nervously waiting for me at the edge of the path. He wiggled into my leg to have his head patted, and nuzzled my coat pocket for a treat.

“Silly dog! Why should I give you a treat when you run off?”

My half hearted attempt at scolding him didn’t work; he just stared at me smiling. I gave him a Liver Snap biscuit.

Uriah tried to get me to look inside a large animals burrow by digging around it and crying.  Stupidly I approached, the subtle smell of a skunk wafted around me, I stopped, then slowly backed away and whistled for him to follow.   

 I walked along the tree line, as we headed back to the house. I saw the old pair of jeans that had been in Uriah’s kennel.  I mentioned them here:  http://gerardinebaugh.wordpress.com/?s=Magical+Gnomes.

They were bunched up against the base of a tree, nearly fifty feet inside the tree line.  I wondered, if  it was the coyotes who moved them around.

 Entering the backyard, we were greeted with the excited clicking of the Northern Cardinal; I saw four males, bright red, hopping from branch to branch in the old apple tree. More answered from deeper in the trees. Only one Sparrow showed his feathered features. I only saw him because I tried to look around the base of the apple tree for the female Cardinals. 

The air was getting heavier, and the cloud cover thickened almost instantly.  Rain is coming…

I howled at the moon, laughed and howled again. Uriah tilted his head at me and sat down. He looked like he was enjoying my song. Maybe… Or not. I couldn’t get him to howl. I told him he was no fun. He thumped his tail against the ground.

 The moon may be full, but I have seen it larger. It was glowing white, like a flashlight shining through a window; it had a ring around it, bright white with an orange halo.

The winds have shifted. This afternoon they were blowing gently at me from the north-west. Right now, at seven o’clock, they were coming straight out of the west, strong enough to blow away the remaining leaves on the front lawn. And it was cold.

The clouds were very high up, possibly Cirrocumulus clouds. I could see them in the moonlight, racing across the sky.

I shivered my way back to the house, telling myself to hang a sweater next to my coat, so I won’t forget it when I go out tomorrow.  Tonight I will hide under the covers.

It was sometime around 10am when I finally got in my car and left the city. Rage Against the Machine blasting on the car stereo, a bag of jalapeno sunflower seeds on the console, the sun climbing through my windows and the vast expanse of open highway splitting desert-wasteland and mountain ranges far off at every horizon, each range shrouded by a general desert haze.

I enjoy driving, so I was disappointed at how quick I came upon the Valley of Fire exit (only 40 some miles outside of Vegas). I took Exit 75 and a road sign read: Valley of Fire 18 mi. I followed the single lane highway as it led me to a low-lying range of hills approximately 12 miles south of the interstate. There were a few clouds in the sky and the sun blazed an iridescence of auburn. Soon I was entering the range through a canyon where the elf-shrub-forest of the valley gave way to taller, more prominent fauna, and the craggy cliffs loomed over the highway on either side of me. Carved into the cliffsides were natural dens, perhaps at times inhabited by a lonesome, vagabond coyote. They’re vacant now.

I rounded the next bend and came to the entrance of the Valley of Fire State Park. The usual scene: snot-nosed kids screaming and flailing, parents not parenting, signs reading “No Fireworks” and “No Hunting,” and service rangers collecting money. I paid a nominal fee and was handed a small piece of paper on which was inscribed the number 28 in crayon. Tossing it onto my dashboard I gave the grizzled park ranger the old have-a-pleasant-day nod and drove off to the fiery cliffs rising just beyond the park entrance.

The rock in this area is mainly the oxidized sandstone that lends Red Rock Canyon its exotic, vibrant-red beauty. But a discerning eye could also spot limestone, conglomerates and shales in the region. Driving further into the Valley, keeping a lookout for what I like to call points of exploration (POE), I marveled at the intensity of color and form of the geology; sheer cliffsides of rust-red oxidization, punctuated by dark-varnished holes. This valley is riddled with geologic anomalies: rocks that look like beehives, elephants, ducks and frogs, rocks that balance, rocks that don’t, upside down rocks, and on it goes. I shouldered my car at the first exhibit—Beehive Rock—and stepped outside to stretch my bones.

“Ok, everybody look now!” shouted a man in khaki shorts as he aimed his Nikon at a swarm of kids clambering and farting atop Beehive rock (Mormons come down from Utah). I smiled but died a little inside. I turned down a trail leading away from the scene and I contemplated the paradox of Ed Abbey’s Industrial Tourism, but I hesitate to bore you with this. (Mostly deals with the un-wilding of once-isolated wilderness.)

I went walking down a gulch of loose gravel. There were more people scrambling up rocks, everywhere—agitated ant-hills. The mid-day sun shone fierce and melted my brain. I foolishly left my water in the car. Not wanting to return just yet, I wandered a bit further down the gulch and plopped-down in the shade offered by a creosote bush. Now that I was away from the playground I could hear myself think.

My eyes panned the southern horizon; my olfactory delighted by the desert wild-brush. To the southwest, beyond the rust-burnished cliffs but rising higher, standing taller, I see two mountains, twin peaks of ancient dolomite, assuming the shapes of rogue waves—their crests frozen in space and time—waiting to crash down on a civilization of their choosing!

…and the seraphim will cry!
…and the cherubim will cry!
…to the archers in the sky!

With this thought, all became quiescent, all became still. I sat in relative silence (I could hear the faint gaiety of children laughing and playing; good for them). I hoped to see a scorpion basking on a nearby rock, but the day was in full bloom and it was far too hot to ask of this favor. Though earlier I saw a healthy whiptailed lizard lunge at a butterfly, just missing her—good enough for me.

Stifled by the heat, I stood up from my shaded-den and wiped the stones from my jeans and crunch-crunched up the rocky gulch back toward the car, admiring the desert plant community along the way. In the fall, the Valley of Fire and surrounding rangeland is thick with creosote bush, brittlebush, burro bush and various species of cacti including the cholla cactus and beaver-tail cactus. Until this day, I’ve only visited the Valley in springtime, when the wildflowers—the desert mallow, indigo bush and the desert marigold bush—are in full and glorious bloom.

The sky was big and blue and unobstructed. At this point in the day, an isolated, ethereal wisp of white-cloud appeared here and there, but nothing more. Thankfully, the weatherman was wrong (The night before I asked my girlfriend to pray for a clear day, a twist on the old rain-dance, I now wonder if she did).

Coming back up the gulch, I noticed the mass of people had moved out and into their air-conditioned mini-vans. Their playground was now mine. I examined the rock formations on the upper-most stretch of the ravine. Walking the length of a long, fish-shaped boulder, I ran my hand along its surface. Innumerable windstorms and rainstorms and flashfloods had weathered these rocks and smoothed them into blown glass, hand-blown by something greater—possibly. I then climbed its back and stood triumphantly on the fish’s head; Veni, Vidi, Vici! But I felt no different.

A gaunt and lanky, middle-aged man appeared from an outcropping of boulders. His dress was humble enough for me to question if he might live in the rocks from which he emerged, only bearing the brunt of the desert sun for a chance at conversation. I obliged.

“You see these rawks right here,” he shouted to me (I kept my distance), “They’s neat! They’s were once laying flat until Mother Nature did this to ‘em.”
“They is neat!” I holler back.
“They’s Amaaaazing!”
“Yes, sir! They is incredible!”

This was the extent of our conversation; a couple of elitists in a conflagration of agreeance. (However, I do recall likening the giant, free-standing boulders to islands rising from a sea of gravel, at which point he turned and walked away). He was a good man, probably more appreciative of his surroundings than the collective population of a hundred mini-vans of people.

I climbed down and observed hasty scribblings in the scales of my fish boulder:

Alto was here – Phillipines
Matty 2009

F%*#! The Petroglyphs of our era!

I drove deeper into the Valley, into towering columns and wild spires of mountaintops reaching to the heavens. The whole scene was epic and reminiscent of the rugged Bolivian Southwest, where I once hiked half-drunk deep into the canyon country of Tupiza with a couple of Israeli mountain-men and a German girl I’d met in the northernmost border-town of Argentina. But that was then.

Atlatl rock, probably fascinating, but I refused to join the mobs of tourists clank-clanking their clumsy feet up the anti-thematic iron-staircase and into the mountainside. I wondered to myself if there was a rollercoaster, or some sort of thrill-ride in the side of that mountain. Going right on by, I entered a dirt-road that looped around a good portion of the fire-red and blackened crags. Their faces, from the bedrock of gravel to the tip of their precipice, gleaned and scowled at me through their countless wind-carved huecos. The cliffs looked like corrugated sheet-metal; junkyard sheet-metal all weathered and rusted, worked over and rattled by a wild-eyed boy with his .22 rifle. They were marvelous!

No sooner did these poetic thoughts enter my mind that I got a headache. Reminded that I was in the desert, I reached for my water—long live the human body, the enigmatic self-regulating machine! I drove on. Dark clouds formed and gathered over the northern cliffs and riding in on the thermals was a red-tailed hawk—wings spread in full arch—primeval as its motherland. Long live the desert!

Some gazillion years ago, this great expanse of arid-desert was under water; it was nothing more than a bed to a sea. As the earth spun on, the sea ebbed gradually and, after eons, beached the mountains of our world. Or so it’s told. The oxidized (literally “rusted”) sandstone is said to be aged between 66 and 250 million years. Layed out during the Mesozoic era by migrant sands brought in on violent winds, they first became prominent dunes and later ossified, or “fossilized” into the geologic formations we see today. The gray mountains of dolomite, standing solemnly back in the haze and silence of day, date back a possible 500 million years to the Paleozoic era. (Note: The “Muddy Mountain Thrust,” not to be confused with the Kama Sutra position, is the name of the complex sequence of shifting plates which created these grandfather mountains).

A crude history of the region’s past and present inhabitants: Said to be first inhabited by the dinosaurs—then the Gypsum People or “cavemen,” the Basketmakers, the Anasazi who couldn’t adapt to the harsh desert extremes, the nomadic (adaptable) Southern Paiute Indians, the invaders and finally the settlers (early Mormons and us today)!—these hills and valleys hold the prayers and curses of many a civilization.

Off I went. I hiked a short trail which looped a semi-circle from the roadside, back to the roadside, where Elephant Rock stands; a misplaced yet impressive boulder naturally eroded into the form of an elephant. I took a picture and left. The elephant was positioned too near to the road for me to fully appreciate its novelty. I felt as though I was mid-way through a rag-tag safari—a field-trip to the zoo! I couldn’t help but think this elephant, this wild beast, once stood majestic and free at the foothill of his mountain with no roads, no cars, no gawkers wielding Nikons, no khaki shorts and whining kids, no trash at its feet, no-thing, no-body, no eyes; only the hostile desert land with whom to roam free and finally and with dignity, grow old and die with. Without a doubt, our elephant is leaving this world behind, slowly. (It will succumb to time; though not before us).

The desert—a slow-moving river, ever-changing with fluidity—the sum of its parts. I’m no geologist, but it’s my hope that some millions of years from now, Elephant Rock will be reduced to “Tortoise Rock” or “Kit-Fox Rock,” or who knows maybe it’ll be known to some inner or outer-stellar galactic creatures as “Once-Was Rock”—and the whole earth all the same!

I hiked further still, beyond the disconsolate beast and into a slot-canyon. The clouds tumbled in and paradoxically enveloped the sun while intensifying its light. Earlier, a ranger at the Ranger Station told me Rainbow Vista was a good bet to watch the sunfall. According to the sun’s position and my Timex watch, I still had an hour and so I went exploring.

I found a small, bored-out rock-cave which was only accessible by a small crack in the rock. I had no other choice but to name it “Crack-Rock Cave.” I climbed inside and sat and wrote and peered through a hole at the outer-world, the other-world. I thought of the hole in the rock as a sort-of looking-glass where I could catch only a fleeting glimpse of the Valley of Fire, and only a small portion at that. Then I thought of the entire Valley, and how in its grandeur of 35,000 sprawling acres, it is merely a looking-glass through which we might catch a glimpse of a much larger desert landscape, and how all the desert in the world is a mere looking-glass to the greater diversity of Earth as a planet, and how the planet is . . . and on I went. Eventually growing weary of my own philosophical meanderings, I left my temporary domicile of Crack-Rock Cave and went light-footed down the trail.

The sun accepted its fate and rested quietly in the gallows of the sky. Soon and without much of a struggle, it would die in the arms of tomorrow. (The sun seems to burn its brightest in its final minute. Unlike sentient beings, it’s fully aware of its continuous rebirth, I think). Anyway, I high-tailed it to Rainbow Vista to watch the scene. Along the way, I made a quick detour to Mouse’s Tank, where a couple hundred years ago a “Renegade Paiute Indian used the natural tank to hideout from the law.” Marketing ploy, I bet. There were petroglyphs, too. But I’m too much a skeptic so no photos were taken. The sheer mass of people had me quickly bailing to Rainbow Vista, and good thing, soon ominous storm-clouds gathered clenched-jaw and all above the jagged crags. Nobody was safe!

Rainbow Vista, with its Disney-like hordes of people, was quickly aborted. This was the only real letdown of the day. There were people—everywhere! Big people and little people and people on the tops of other people; I couldn’t do it. I bid a kind farewell to the Valley of Fire and got in my car and went straight for the highway.

I was pulled over by Highway Patrol for speeding, but after explaining the urgency of getting home to leftover Thanksgiving dinner, the officer let me go. With a slightly corrected pace, I was soon barreling southbound on Interstate 15, headlong into a sunset all my own! And that was my Saturday.

The day started out cool, wet, and misty, with the clouds touching the earth.

 I walked through those  clouds this morning, as I navigated the muddy path. No longer overflowing with water, which had drained off during the night, the path now was a mess of slippery and slimy mud.

 I decided if I walked carefully and slowly, while holding onto my ski pole and the Bog Willows that grew on the sides of the path, I wouldn’t fall and get covered in mud.

 That was the plan.

I really should have told Uriah the plan.

Halfway into the path and feeling proud I hadn’t kicked up any of the permanent staining mud, I stopped and looked back at Uriah. He stood at the edge of the mud, tongue hanging out and a big smile on his fury face. He wasn’t looking at me; I turned back and saw a grey squirrel nosing around the base of a tree. My eyes swept the ground from the squirrel, past me to Uriah. I took in all that mud.

Then watched, in slow motion as Uriah stood up, and charged at the squirrel, mud kicked up over his head, as he raced past.  

What I said could not be printed here.

 Uriah didn’t even notice. In his head, he was chasing the big bad squirrel.

On my head sat a clump of mud, with some moss mixed in…

Within the next second he took off into the trees, barking.

I ignored him while I called his name. I walked all the way around the path and he stayed where he was, in the trees barking.

The fog moved through the trees, giving everything a soft feel. Birds yelled at me, or maybe Uriah. Crows, Blackbirds, and Blue Jays flew to the tops of the trees screaming in irritation. Cardinals were on the lower branches, as they followed me around the path. They landed in the trees and bushes just ahead, or off to the side.  As I passed they flew on ahead, waiting on the next branch.

I slipped through the mud, and I headed back towards the house.

Uriah stayed in the trees and continued to bark.

Finches and dark-eyed junco, and black-capped chickadees, flittered in-between the trees as I passed by. 

I noticed this year’s over produced bird, the Sparrow. At least fifty of them were in the grass around the burn pile; they flew up into the blue spruce, and chattered away.  I startled those Sparrows as I passed by, I stopped and  watched; they took flight heading over the roof in perfect synchronization, turning to the left, then right as they maneuvered around trees, until they landed in my neighbor’s trees and bushes. 

Last year the over abundant bird was the Common Grackle. The year before, Mourning Doves flourished.

It took only a moment for me to wonder, when the birds of prey will notice all those sparrows. Suddenly, a high pitch screech echoed above and around me.  The Red-tailed hawk,  had already seen them.

Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensi)

http://www.illinoisraptorcenter.org/Field%20Guide/redtailpictures.html

As I walked out the garage door, and looked to my right. I could see the Waxing Gibbous moon, nearly full, glowing white in the still, blue sky. It was dusk and the sun had slipped to the horizon and was quickly disappearing. Last night the sky was streaked with fury red. Tonight it was a pale defused orange color.  

Uriah and I walked towards the front pond, instead of on the back path. The path was still under an inch of water, and slippery. With the sun going down, I was afraid I would fall into the pitch black mud. Not my idea of a fun night.

 Staring into the blue sky, I found it hard to differentiate between the summer sky at dusk and this sky. There was only one cloud, possibly Cirrus, splattered over head looking very much like a flattened out tornado. Its bottom point aimed at the setting sun, while the large cone top swirled above my head.

Uriah came over and leaned against my leg. He was still nervous from the gun fire all afternoon. I have a neighbor who loves to target shot. For hours… 

“Its okay,” I whispered, as I rubbed his face. “He isn’t shooting anymore.”

At that moment, shots rang out; to be precise, six times the gun, sounded like a 22. Uriah stood up, then sat down and sighed heavily.  

“Come on, boy.” I patted my leg as I walked away from Uriah.  “At least he’s not shooting the big stuff.”

 I really have to learn how to be quiet. Two shots rang out, with an intense deep, BOOM! BOOM! Those shots vibrated through the ground.

I called Uriah to walk around the pond, and gave him a Milkbone dog biscuit, which made him happy. While the there was still light he needed his exercise. I was relieved, when he decided to trotted on ahead.

 A waft of warm barbeque air disturbed the cold, damp wood smell, but only in small pockets. Odd!  I took four steps and I walked into a cold, damp woody smell. Then, I moved forward two more steps, into warm air smelling like hot dogs and summer. It had to do with the lack of a breeze. The air was extremely still.

 All, this was making me hungry.

An angry Cardinal clicked high in the trees; another one closer towards the house answered the first. I wondered if they were upset with me, or whoever had a fire going? More than likely it was the shooting that went on all afternoon.

I turned as I reached the driveway. Now I was facing towards the house. The moon hung in the sky above the roof like the star of Bethlehem.

 The shooting stopped. The birds were still talking in the trees, and the light was fading fast.

My pace picked up as I followed Uriah to the house. I have a piece of pumpkin pie left. I just hope my husband can see my name is written on it…