today

KING COBRA

I almost died multiple times by cobra attack. Julie plays an integral part of this story because it is her image that flashed before my eyes as I foresaw my death. Her mother and I had thrown ourselves into the snake pit to protect sister\’s Darcie and Julie from possible exposure to these deadly venomous vipers. In the image it may seem like we are smiling. DON\’T BE FOOLED! That is just our front: a stratagem to fracture the slippery snake\’s intensity.

Okay, so I met a hungry King Cobra. He was extremely agitated, compared to all the other extremely poisonous snakes gathered round. You will notice that I used the word \”extreme\” twice in the last sentence. That is because this was an extreme kind of experience; in other words, there were a lot of extremes to extreme about. Like him:

King C had FIVE (the most) Death Stars*****, as measured by Cape Fear Serpentarium\’s scale of Poison-osity represented by skull and crossbones (this was a summit on super venom and the largest collection of poisonous snakes in the world). This upped the Intensi-tron Rating to twenty five (that\’s a lot; it only goes to ten). King Cobra tensely eyed us up as soon as we approached. He was quite attentive.

When I sat down before him, he STRUCK me! Well, actually, his strike was abridged by the glass between us. But if it weren\’t for that, he\’d have kissed me right on the face – two times! What a rush, like WHOA! On our way out, I notified the owner that she had a hungry King Cobra on her hands and she quite agreed. Since he had shed only yesterday, King C had worked hard to cast off his dead skin for a fresh coat and now he wanted a warm meal. Apparently, I was looking good! Thanks bud!

The Live Oak and his Spanish (Moss) Girlfriend

MB Ninja Cat II

I think I have said this before. MB is a no nonsense kind of cat. She does not play games. And just when I thought that things were calming down around here, she pulls out ninja moves that are straight out of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. It’s insane!

So I get home from a gig late at night. Mike is not home and Mom and dad are sleeping, so I have my hands full with a gregarious poochie and two felines all attempting to roost with me. The pup follows closely, so cats scatter into a more distant orbit in the hall. Pooch is soon bored of my preparations for bed, so she sits in the doorway, spying the kits. Taylor, at the end of the hall – I’m sure he turned to dash when the dog comes into view (that is how he deals: avoidance). But to the pooch, this is an invitation to chase.

She starts down the hall. I turn to follow, but before I can take a step, a white orb of POOF flies past the doorway! I turn the corner to find MB landing in front of the dog with claws flying and hisses frothing from her mouth! WHOA! The pup bows down, submitting, snapped from her infatuation and frozen in dangerous distraction. I am in awe! Molly cat has just sacrificed herself for Old Man T. Bear’s safety! This is true love. The old man is hunkered behind the rails at the bottom of the stairs. In hasty retreat, I’m sure his paws did not touch a single stair on the way down. I carefully separate the “oil and water” (cat from dog) to make peace. It seems we have not quite settled; everyone’s personality is amped over this pups antics.

ANIMAL OMENS at Home

I hear the ol’ hoot owl call in,
Now that the night is fallen.
In the evening,
Soft subconscious rises to his coo-hoo.
In the dark,
He reminds me of my magic heart.
Greets me.
In it floats.
Over the back hill, to my window:
(w)hoo, (w)hoo, (w)hoo!

Mornings ago
I am greeted by the Hawk,
Calling out as the door comes closed behind me.
I turn to find him waiting there
Across the drive.
Call, call, call!
A deep, sharp cry.
Resoundingly sure.
Great bird remains,
As I approach, calling out again.
Three times: call, call, call.
I stop beneath the tree looking up in awe,
We telepathically convene.
Meeting.
Aware of one another. A choice.
To share presence, this attention.
A final harkening: Hawk sounds.
Then, without hurrying, lifts up and leaps from the limb,
Towards a more quiet roost.
I am honored.

Flicker feathers in the woods.
Yellow-shafted.
Scattered in brown oak.
All around is winter. Nothing.

Some cat, that big yellow mother – domestic, stray or feral –
I saw her digging in amongst those trees,
On another afternoon.

Or perhaps – and more likely – the fox preyed on this bird.
Was woodpecker – wisdom of the forest – conquered by the sly trickster?
Our land hosts his den, off over the field & behind a thicket,
Grown up where a stream once run.
In winter you can see right through the entanglement of branches,
This natural privacy fence thinned.
Fox mound is of red earth (appropriately colored),
Covered in wispy golden grass.
Tracks in the snow show him come and gone.

On two different days I bear witness through north facing windows:
Fox.
Tracing the hem between meadow and lawn,
Treading through wooded way and across the far field,
To parks off and away.
This creature has a wily white beard of a tail, salt and peppered.
Ragged thing trails off so that
He seems only half solid – his orange upper body.
Living in the red soil, we are custodians of this habit, tat.
I always wonder, what of pups?

Fox returns, winding from the lawn back through field.
Leaving a scent to mark the division as he goes.
Frolicking about easily.

Mourning dove feathers scatter all about the area:
OMENS. Here.
I saw the flash of a tail retreating
This morn-ing.
Having fed from the backyard,
Doves and the like flee to safety in the sky and nearby branches.
Especially round the dried-up stream,
The thicket there is their haven,
Although fox preys from below, where his hole hides in the hill.
Fox winds home playfully – inquisitively curious – through beds where deer have slept.

Doe gather close to the home after dark,
When interior lights blind people to their presence.
Just outside. If I walk out they disperse quick and silent,
Like leaves that quake briefly on the breeze – just a shutter.
Dancing gracefully – arcing across – on air,
There is a flicker of white tail as they sail.

Cats don’t venture far,
These days, with their age.
Fox is lurking, and
My Taylor kit’s encounter presses softly in the back of our minds,
Scars left beneath his downy coat.

Up the road a neighboring fox – all flaming orange –
Runs down the stream, where it billows beneath asphalt.
A certain causeway where we would visit:
Kiddies curious to play in the wild.
The water, she draws creatures close at the end of the day,
In dusk. Near dark.
Then back up the hill, fox trots.
He moves quick from my car,
Rambling along rugged borders.