Visitor

It is the Lord's gift to wake on the forest floor in November. All night as I slept I could hear the leaves gently fall down on me. Birds are blind to my presence, and hop about my body as if I am the root and the stone.

The deer last night were too brave, too unconcerned. Finally, when I feared more than a little that I'd end up trampled under a hundred little hooves, I pulled out my hawk, and a growl I have not used in a long time. As soon as I let out the growl of a lifetime from my mouth, I knew that it was too much. The deer were not afraid. That is too kind a word. They were a few feet away. Their heads had been taking in the road, the lights from the houses, and I am sure a couple were curious about the bump in the leaves that was me. My guess was that they were at the foot of the wooded hill behind me forty feet away. I was wrong. When my growl hit the cool night air the most horrible screams of bleating ripped through the woods. Branches broke into a flood of fractures that fanned out all around me. It was an overkill. The saddest creature that I fired into the night was an opossum that was sitting on its rump, while leaning on my down bag against my leg like a cat ,and I had no idea. It was a shadow now, inches above my face, spread out on a heavy limb. He was so ugly he was adorable. I felt like a monster. I felt like a shit. At first I tried talking to him. He climbed higher. Softly, I began to sing a calming song to my visitor. "Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep little..." I don't remember what I called him. He froze, appeared to listen, and then began to climb down. He returned to my leg, thought better of it, and wandered away. On inches of tree litter, he never made a sound, even though I strained to hear him.