Outside, the snow that pattered all through the forest hours ago; that Shiva and I stood outside to feel or hear- quite musical and loud; John Cage would have heard the chorale - now is slowly turning to rain, as once again the old girl and I stand, drinking in the sounds and smells of the night.
The banging and bashing of Chicopee and never-resting industry, over across the river, and down wind- but audible now that most trees stand disrobed, the sound flees across this land, and right up to us.
You can hear the trains whistling, come winter, as if they were pounding through the back yard.
And the city lights of Northampton, just across the Connecticut, shine , this time of year , and wink through the forest.
In fact, now come December ,we see distant hills in three directions, a compensation for the loss of temperate seasons, as the hard cold times approach.
There are too many hunters, bang banging all day long ; so the deer hide carefully, and the Coywolves stay quiet, til December has come and gone - then semi automatics can kill Coywolves for fun , but only come daylight. And the deer and turkey and small birds can wander about once again .
I hear my far next door neighbor's ATV stuck far off in the outwaters, and I can't deny I feel some delight. As he has often illegally barreled through conservation lands through the night, snowmobiles whining come snowfall, bashing about lands and alarming wildlife. But it is what it is , here, as it is other places, humans making these choices.
Still, the Coywolves come by each night, up to the compost, not necessary now, but come deep frigid winter, a necessity .
And now I know the snow reveals one surviving small pup, and so far, one huge parent- but who knows- I may not have noticed the tracks of the others.
Driving home in the darkness, we pull in to see the homeless cat perched, beautiful, beneath the picnic table that holds the bird feeders.
I received a coupon in the mail, and quietly used it for a big bag of Dave's natural cat food. Uncertain whether the beautiful black with white underbelly hungry one eats it each night , or a possum or the young Coywolf; but now I know the cat who comes for cooked squash out of the compost- prefers late afternoon, so I'll put out their daily allotment then, before they are a better meal for the canines.
In the meantime, still with the huge Sassafras branch lying by the feeders, there is happy mayhem among the winged ones all day long ; who knew a complex limb of so many small little branches would be the reason for such avian happiness?
As Shiva and I stand out once more, she feeling the cool icy snow turn to rain as it sinks into her beautiful old fur.
As I breathe deep the fresh cold air, leaning in the doorway, making the pup stay inside and be second, always, to teach him that respect for his elder.
As I know Kevin is tucking into the warm bed and the cats competing for hip perch, and the chance to curl under his arm, for a heavenly chest massage, before the lot of them fall and fall asleep, hard.
As Shiva and I remain near the field boundary , she lifting her head to smell of things far away and indeterminate to us mere humans.
As she struggles with the hard bits of being old, and completely delights in every delicious moment that remains hers to relish.
As I watch her, and the snow turns to rain, and the silent night stretches out far beyond, from this moment's darkness.
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