Hunting

Laid in bed this morning, listening to the sounds coming in through my window.  A barred owl was who who whoing in the tall cedars, who who whoing.

The owl, attuned to the slightest rustle and movement, and our resident chipmunks, squirrels, rabbits, and mice hearing him and shaking in their burrows, under the leaf piles and in my garden, holding their collective breaths, praying “not me this morning, not me and not my babies.”

I thought of that wonderful book, Maus, which imagined the Nazis as cats and the Jews as fleeing rodents.  What  genius.  But it doesn’t take much imagination to conjure that up laying in my bed this morning.  We are at risk.  Always.  All of us.  Be careful.  Be watchful.  Have fun, eat your carrots and munch on Mr. Macgregor’s lettuces, but keep a look out.

Life is such a matter of perspective.  Do you live in a pile of leaves or under a rock or up in a tree surveying all below you.

Does the bunny experience the owl as a vengeful god?   Or does he shrug his shoulders and say “shit happens:  It’s the price we pay for being in business.”

Everyone needs to eat, everyone is someone else’s next meal.  I think I’ll stay in bed this morning and consider becoming a vegetarian.