"Wolf nightmares" *

Morning, after a snow, is a wonderful opportunity to see what creatures come through the yard. Yesterday I could see where deer had come in from the back (behind my neighbor’s house is a little draw) heading toward the front yard; they did a bit of birdseed cleanup under the lonely pine before crossing the street. Of course, a number of cats go through these yards, hugging the walls behind shrubbery. At least one set of tracks went under the deck and then came out the other side and continued skirting the house. Lots of birds made their maddening hieroglyphics, a few squirrels had a raced from tree to tree in places no branches meet. Today I watched a squirrel run across my neighbor’s roof, a dangerous passage as the hawks have been very active in the neighborhood this week. About a third of the snow melted today as it was another sunny day and five degrees warmer. Tomorrow most of it will probably disappear as it gets warmer still and rain is forecast.

With the melting snow and the absence of tracks one could believe that those other creatures aren’t out there, that they don’t share the world with us or wish we’d share the world with them in a more humane way. That they aren’t using these weird green areas and cul-de-sacs to move along trails that they’ve used for a millennium or more (except for, maybe, these domesticated cats, Caticus Kittleeatus Maximus). It’s sort of like those that stayed in shadow and secret groups for a so many years, on the radar of groups like the Southern Poverty Law Center and Hate Watch, but mainly ignored and pooh-poohed by others. Everyone had that racist neighbor or grandma or uncle or father or friend. But they “didn’t really mean it” they’d never “act on it”. And we forgot what tracks to watch for, forgot how they hunted and fed, forgot how to bring them in from being feral; they use to hide because the rest of us told them no, not here. Now they’re all savage, they’ve invaded our towns and cities and safe little cul-de-sacs. They’ve been elected to office, they aren’t just that small town sheriff or county commissioner, they’re mayors and governors and in Congress. One was President. They’re out in the open. And snow or none, we need to learn how to track them, see what it will take to turn them human.

Here’s a bit of a poem from Margaret Atwood’s new book, Dearly, called Short Takes On Wolves* (2020, Ecco) and a picture of the Wolf Moon caught up in a tree this morning.