She won't go home. She wants to take one more walk by the lake. She wants to finish that novel she started, now that her husband and kids have gone. Even though the summer house is not insulated, and the heating system is not the best, she wants to linger.
She is a broad-tailed hummingbird. Go south, honey. The sugar-water bar is closing. The weather is getting nastier. Isn't Mexico calling?
And then there is Goth Coyote.
I used to wonder why there were not more coyotes around us. Instead, the woods are full of foxes. But this summer Goth Coyote showed up. I call him/her that for his/her howl, which has a particularly haunting rising quaver that makes me think of torn black-lace elbow-length gloves and gobs of eye shadow. Another coyote sings duets, but GC's quaver is unmistakable from the horse pasture or up the Forest Service road.
He/she probably got in trouble at school. The Wet Mountain Tribune would probably concur with this opinion.
1 comment:
We cut the hummers off, those sugar water junkies, a good while back, but they endure. And, if I were in the business of making stories up about animals, which, of course, I am not, I'd say that they endure.
Even when they fly into the house and we don't notice, they try to fly out through the glass until they tire, and then they rest a bit and try again and again and again.
Eventually, we notice, And with a butterfly net purchased just for this purpose, or sometimes only a bit of paper towel, we stand on a chair, capture them, and let them go. Small and delicate as they are, they can take some handling. The sound of a panicked hummingbird is something that remains in memory.
And so they go. And they endure incredible distances.
Nice blog.
I'll check back.
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