Wednesday, November 30, 2016

RIP Petit McRouge

With relief sadness Petit has passed on to the big walnut tree in the sky. It wasn't the removal from my home I wanted or wished for. His final meal of apples and walnuts were harvested from my his garden. He perished from what I believe was utter denial of my winning shock being caged in the live trap.

Weeks ago he skillfully removed the barricade a contractor had lazily shoved installed around the roof vent and proceeded to spend his nights running around the attic and in the walls. On sunny days he cavorted outside fighting chasing his cousins and skipping through the trees in search of food.

I will miss the rumble pitter patter of him running through the eave trough, and across the rooftop at exactly 5:30 am; the incessant nattering quiet conversations when I was in the garden; and the game of disturbingly stalking peek-a-boo when I relaxed on the patio.

I shall also miss pulling into my drive, seeing him on top of the neighbours shed, waiting for me. He always gave me the finger waved, flicked his tail, thumped his wee feet and shrieked sang his song, “bbbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”. He was more of a tenor than a bass but it was a stressful pleasant welcome home.

Sadly Petit wouldn't listen and move on, nor would he enter the trap outside so I could take him to the wildlife reserve and let him free. I had purchased a bag of his favourite food to place with the cage as I released him to become owl food a free range squirrel. But being a male...

Left to dance with reckless abandon mourn his passing are his cousins: GreyTips, Earl Grey, Black Bart, Boof and Ink Spot. They are celebrating wallowing in his departure from the garden, with a feast wake being held in the bird feeders.

Personally, I kinda miss the wee guy outside, but not in my home. Sleep well furry fecker, your memory shall live on. Whenever a walnut drops onto my head I will look up and see your spirit teeheeing at me.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Nature songs

winds blow hard this day
whipped leaves, cut into skin,
with their dried edges

though protected with clothes
duplicated to ward off the chill,
this brisk November day

while wind chimes sing
remembrance of summers
breeze, and I sing along

in sync with Chickadees
who scour the garden
searching for seed

as I seek warmth
to relax the muscles,
and fall into dreamland

soothed into sleep
under feathers of down,
natures songs echo