coyote thanksgiving.

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today was pencilfox thanksgiving:

smoked turkey. dressing. cranberries. 

i found myself almost weeping when telling mister pencilfox how grateful i am. 

we have it so good here. 

we truly do. 

after eating our fill, after picking the remaining meat from the bones, 

after handing out turkey treats to the pooches and the winterfat cat, 

i stood at the kitchen sink, gazing out at the barren hillside. 

no snow. just a blustery gusty windy evening. 

my dearest friends 

[and those who love to chide me on my faults] 

point out to me how very sensitive i am. 

 i know this. 

i know i am sensitive. 

i know at times i am too sensitive. 

but, you know: 

call me silly. 

call me too sensitive. 

these words sometimes drive me to feeling closer to animals 

than i do to humans. 

and so. 

for that very reason, after picking all the meat off the turkey carcass, 

i wrapped it up and placed it in my largest ace hardware bucket, 

bundled myself up in coat and gloves and boots, 

hopped into my carnelian jeep, and drove down to the matanuska river. 

when there, i was struck by the difference between what i left at home

compared to what i saw in front of me. 

so much colour, so much warmth, i left that behind me.

glacial silt pelted the jeep windshield. i stood at the river, gusts of wind 

making it difficult to hold myself upright. 

but i stood there. feeling it all.

i unwrapped the turkey carcass and placed it at the river's edge, 

whispering a prayer, shedding a tear or two, feeling gratitude rise from my heart 

and knot up in my throat.

may the coyotes and foxes and tiny rodents enjoy this dinner 

as much as i did in the warmth of my sweet pencilfox home.  

life is good and all is as it should be. 

namaste'.

amen.

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