Outside–just now–coyotes yipping, close to the house. Neighbor’s little dogs barking furiously. Cacophony in the woods! My heart pounds.
Suddenly, all still. Hopefully the dogs ran, tails between legs, back home. Hopefully, coyotes didn’t breakfast until later.
Dark lingers these mornings, but it will lighten earlier next weekend when Daylight Savings Time flies away with the last honking geese.
Full white moon illuminated skeleton trees last night. Light poured in through open bedroom window but I slept on and on and on, thank all those twinkling midnight stars.
Gunshot cracks down on the bay. Fat goose for someone for breakfast, unless gunshot strayed to embed in tall maple or poplar, or perhaps someone’s errant window.
Years ago, a bullet grazed our family room window downstate, just where I was sitting a few minutes ago. Deer hunting target gone astray.
A few months ago a bullet struck the window by our kitchen table.
Danger in the woods?
I’m more scared in the city.
Coyotes want breakfast and hunters lick greasy goose dreams as they aim their guns toward feathers, but mostly the trees sway in icy acceptance of the first 25 F (-4 C) morning, frost etching dried leaves.
The ’49 Studebaker pickup truck waits blocking the driveway, half filled with yesterday’s wood-splitting fun. We’ve never split wood this late in the year. We’ve been splitting since spring, on and off, timing our truckloads between Barry’s knee replacement surgeries.
Only two or three more truckloads to go. In summer we sweat, miserably hot, loading the truck with five fat rows of split firewood, then unloading it back in our woodpile. In late autumn we wear sweatshirts and heavy coats, ear muffs protecting ears from the splitter motor’s loud whining roar.
Louder than coyotes yipping. They slumber in their somewhere-den by mid-morning, exhausted from full moon wandering and breakfast searches.
It’s a rare coyote we humans glimpse.
They, on the other hand, may witness us with gleaming eyes as we unload our truck, as we walk up the road, as we meditate upon red roots of yonder cedar tree.
Sun thinks about rising now. Wood stove needs tending.
I wish you good morning from the forest. Thank you for listening to me yip from my den in these Upper Peninsula woods.