Post
by sasha » March 18th, 2020, 2:01 pm
Covid-19. Stock market in free-fall, incompetent government in denial. Grocery store shelves as bare as in the old USSR. Transportation and hospitality industries lurching toward recession. Fear of the unknown breeding uncertainty and panic.
Fuck this noise.
Except for the woodpeckers trading drum riffs, all is still. The morning air is cold and sweet. My boots crunch on gravel that feels spongy underfoot as it begins to thaw from the overnight freeze. The sun on my back is warm enough to induce me to unzip my jacket all the way.
Every branch, every twig on the maple tree in Bill's field is tipped with a red bud. I imagine blood surging from the earth up into its dendrites bringing the life-force to awaken the sleeping tree. The maples are early risers. The oaks still slumber. Soon the hemlocks will refresh the tips of their own twigs with bright green shoots, with which I shall make tea.
I walk all the way to the lake, which, except for a thin crust along the shore in shadowed places, has completely iced out. I stand gazing out across the open water, now so unfamiliarly animate. The rocky peaks of Mount Monadnock glow in the distance. I exist here for a few moments before turning back for home and coffee.
From the crest of the knoll I can see down into the hollow - where two male wild turkeys in full regalia are vainly trying to impress a flock of at least a dozen hens milling about in the middle of the road. I laugh at their predicament, and call to them. "I feel your pain, bro!"
They seem not to appreciate my sympathy, and wander off into the woods as I approach.
So common are the fresh deer tracks i see here every morning that I barely take note of them anymore, but something I've never seen before catches my eye and I stop to try to make sense of it. It looks almost as though someone has dragged a small 4- or 5-tined rake through the dirt in a looping, meandering, spiraling path. It is occasionally flanked by short, straight drag marks that seem unconnected. My first thought is that they were made by a child - but who? Beyond the occasional visit from grandchildren, there aren't any kids in the neighborhood. Besides, I'm almost certain the marks weren't here on my outward journey, even though the sun was in a different position then.
So it must have been the turkeys, then. Mustn't it...?
A similar track wanders from the curlicued marks down into the hollow, and I follow it. And right where the birds had been clustered before I so rudely interrupted their tryst, is a similar set of curlicues. So I've learned something! Turkeys dance when they woo, scuffing their toes in the sand to impress the gals.
Any day you learn something new is bound to be a good day, regardless of what MSNBC or Faux News might tell you.
.
"If one could deduce the nature of the Creator from a study of creation, it would appear that He has an inordinate fondness for beetles." -- evolutionary biologist J B S Haldane, (1892-1964)