Moonlight mutterings

Here in the northern Hemisphere winter draws on or as the countryfolk say—winter drawers on. There is a peculiarity to the changing of the leaves wherein there are few bright reds and many leaves simply turn brown before falling to the forest floor. But the air is a harvest of fresh and clean and lightly cooled air with the scent of autumn. 

Everywhere you see the animals preparing. They scurry busy in the undergrowth and scrambling up into trees. You can hear random arguments from various places from a myriad of wild voices. The bluejays have returned from their summer fiesta in the forests to scavenge in backyards.

The oak I have at the side shed nuts in abundance this year which I know because it sounds like artillery on the tin roof at times adding of course to the atmosphere of the news coverage these days. And I feed Godot the raccoon still.

And five of his friends and family who had disappeared for awhile but have returned. I understand that when it hits 30 degrees they will snuggle into dens for semi-hibernation and I will see little of them. They are huge and plump and still always gracious with me. They sometimes put their little nose on my hand as I feed them as a gesture of thank you or acknowledgement. A baby one licked my toe. The ones that aren’t afraid anyway. Most are and that is okay for me because I know there are terrible humans out there. There always have been.

Godot reaches for the bowl with his arms outspread and his human-like hands grabbing at it. He has neither fear nor shame. He stands at the door as if expecting to be let in which my small dog has something to say about. The cat glares as if her glare will matter. When that happens I feel like a western leader providing aid to Ukraine and Israel with a glaring and barking and growling public wondering about their own welfare. In these times that is quite understandable. The economics are not good and winter gives us added worry. We cannot sleep outside much. We cannot grow anything to eat much.

I am impressed by the density and thickness of the raccoon’s coats. They have wrapped themselves against the cruelty coming. Unlike humans. Many still exist in an endless summer… the sunny days and sunny ways as someone once said who shall remain nameless. To be witness to the awful recognition by some of reality is a difficult thing to see. The whole ethos of positive-thinking shudders and trembles in the face of wars and inflation and disease. It is the place now, not for the comfort of self-help books but an expansive faith that shelters and instructs. Whatever that may be for people. It is different for all. 

One thing I’m certain of though, is that the Sustainable Development agenda is not it. It may live on in epitaph to foolish dreams unrealized. In some ways, that is a terribly sad thing. In other ways it shows it may be more an epitaph to greed and power and how it can circumvent all of the noblest intentions of many a dreamer. It neither shelters nor instructs because it is a product of humans. The strivings and workings and ambitions of human beings lying among the wolves. Corporations and oligarchs and banksters and shadowy figures who, in their cunning, deceive and attempt to break us all. And the manipulation covert or overt fights unfairly. For there may be justice but the just comes with ice. Winter draws on. Wars continue. People struggle.

Such dark thoughts of course are not helpful. They are simply there. In some ways I am grateful to those who see little of this reality. They carry on as if nothing has changed and there is an uneasy comfort in that right now. See, the food is in the stores. The people are still having backyard barbecues. A dollar is still a dollar. We aren’t much wearing masks anymore. There are shows and festivals and sometimes even laughter in the distance. Nothing has changed. Nothing. Except everything. The one exception.

So I feed the raccoons. It is the thing I’m doing. There are many things I could be doing but that is apparently what I’ve chosen to do. They make me happy where people barely do anymore. Living as I do in the in-between: between the reality and the dream. I look at the shadowed grey murmuring raccoons in moonlight. And then I look at the moon. It may as well be made of blue-cheese for all we really know. It is always there though. Even behind the clouds. Such is faith for many.  Peace and love to those who search and who struggle and who cry out to the silence. You are not alone. Have a cup of tea. Pretend we’re all together laughing at the tragedy. That’s the best part of being human: the laughter amidst the tears.