The shriek woke me out of a sound sleep, and then I heard a second one. I’ve heard these other years, but it’s still chilling enough to make me pull the covers up over my head. If I had house guests from the city, they’d have dialed 911 on their cells.
I know, though, that I live next to a woodsy area where raccoons, owls, rabbits and coyotes hang out. I used to think the dreadful sounds were raccoons fighting, and sometimes I think it is. But this spring I think the coyotes are cleaning out the rabbits one by one. And rabbits can produce human-like screams when attacked.
Those cute little critters have overtaken my yard the last few years, forcing me to fence one of the vegetable beds devoted to their favorite crops. Easy job. What was more difficult was watching them eat the crocuses and tulips down to green stubs every spring. They turned up their little button noses at the daffodils.
This spring the crocuses, like Charlie Brown trying to kick Lucy’s football one more time, somehow gathered enough strength and courage to push themselves up out of the dirt and they’re blossoming! Dark purples, some yellows, a little lavender, so lovely–the first of spring flowers in my yard, along with a few daffodils. Are the rabbits gone? I’ve only seen one in my yard in the last few weeks–and I haven’t seen him since the shriek in the night.
Living on the edge of the wild is not always as idyllic as it may seem. My stately old madrona next to the water develops a disease and rots away. An old crow takes several days to die out behind the garage. I find blue baby bird shells in unusual places. Once I found a dead snake in the bird bath, partially eaten.
My sister also lives away from the city. Several years ago, she described her horror as she watched a neighbor’s young cat being picked up and carried away by an eagle. She, an artist, resorts to the canvas instead of a keyboard, and did a striking portrait of the experience–angry black slashes against a blue/gray sky.
Not always lovely, no.
But still. The bright crocus colors overwhelm the darkness. We’re in that season of rebirth, of new life. The following quote, from Parker Palmer in a colder part of the country, pretty much sums it up from a different angle:
“There is a hard truth to be told: before spring becomes beautiful, it is plug ugly, nothing but mud and muck. I have walked in the early spring through fields that will suck your boots off, a world so wet and woeful it makes you yearn for the return of ice. But in that muddy mess, the conditions for rebirth are being created.”