Today I fell in love with the animal tracks in the snow on my
property. Every morning, I trek down to the road to retrieve my two
newspapers, one from its appropriate box and the other from the
driveway, wherever it may have landed. There was a fresh coat of
unadulterated snow on the driveway, so it was easy to spot the
evidence of nighttime animal activity. My own cat refuses to go
outside in winter, so I could not ascribe any of the tracks to her.
It is certainly possible that my neighbors' dogs might have carved
their presence into the landscape, searching, in love and despair,
for my Golden Retriever whom I had to put down a month ago. But
there are so many other possibilities to explain the crisscross
zigzag trails across the lawn and pavement.
I am well aware that time and temperature can alter the markings
in the snow. What might have been the gentle impressions left by a
fox or a deer can easily become evidence of a grizzly bear or timber
wolf or (OMG!) dinosaur after expansion and remelting have taken
place. So I study the prints on my way to the newspapers, trying to
ascertain what creature was visiting my realm while I slept. I
suppose I could procure a book of animal trackings and make a
scientific assessment of the animals that may have left their mark,
but I think part of falling in love is trusting in imagination and
possibility. In that spirit, I choose to conjure unicorns and satyrs
and perhaps an occasional dodo bird, because why not? The landscape
comes alive with fur and fangs and ridiculous wing-flapping, and I am
joyful in the throes of fantasy. Savoring this escape from
responsibility and reality, I trudge back up the driveway, each step
taking me closer to denial of the fantastic, until I find myself
sitting at my table, newsprint spread out before me, slapped into a
world free of dinosaurs, but lacking in imagination. Tomorrow
morning, I will revisit the world of possibility, marked by bear
claws and coyote scat and perhaps the tender markings of rabbits in
love.
I have a tiny book of animal tracks (I think of New Jersey!) in my room... somewhere... It's a pocket-size book.
ReplyDeleteAnimal tracks... they lead to my poor lilac bush which has been totally devoured. And I know who they are: deer.
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