on some wild night
a raccoon screamed, one more time
and now a feast
The first time around walking on the trail, I saw what appeared to be the remains of a chicken—in the park? Hmmm. It wasn’t until I circled back and saw the bits and pieces of fur scattered about that I recognized, realizing this had been a raccoon caught in the struggle of life and death that is an intrinsic and necessary part of living in nature. I thought about the raccoon giving up its life for the hawk or fox or owl, or some other predator in the night, and then the ants and insects who were now feeding on pieces of flesh and the bones, and then later, perhaps, some birds who would come and take away pieces of fur to warm their nests for eggs and fledglings to come. I bowed in gratitude. 🙏
