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What the Possum Said, The
Encounter with the Humans and The Lepidoptera Come to Call ;)
In nocturnal escapades, I had outlasted the company of the groundhog
who had a penchant for the geothermal in his underground niche. He was content to avoid snowdrifts,
frost and the rasp of a middle aged winter from the depths and hollows of the earth. The snowshoe rabbit had lasted into the wee
hours telling tails of powder puffs and how she avoided the freeze of streams in her too young adolescence. She introduced the noise
reduction techniques for a more entrenched listening experience given the sensibility of her ears. She thumped
out a simple beat in rhythm with the words and melody of strings of willow. The supple flexible branches were held taught,
strummed for a sound like a harp by two red squirrels. The
remaining “night owls “of the possum passel had given me the hallux -up- thumbs up in human terms- proud
of the artistry in hind feet. They pole
danced up on and over creaking branches in erotic and unprecedented patterns. A rather ingenious
innovation for their collective tails and adaptive anatomy even if I did want
to remind them of the uncompromising magnitude of gravity and the relentless hardness of the firmament
below. They were high flying trapeze artist whirling in white, silver and black
fur coats, pink nosed, a living sculpture and a testament to the beauty of unique
North American marsupials. A few snow owls had arrived for the party using the runway of a tundra- like airport for inflight landing much to the detriment of the mechanical birds. Luckily the humans had had the good sense to trap them and take them for a journey 100 km away- for this I was thankful as I did not enjoy the prospect of meeting them. The humans, while shaking their heads at the climate and changes to habitat, had the good sense to escort the majestic white birds back to safety. There is hope for the two legged units after all, I thought.
Just before dawn, I
scratched around the base of a convenient
jack pine fresh with tapered bursts of dark green lines. I was in search of grub(s) preferably snails, rats, slugs or birds, I caught a whiff of human, wet dog and the foul smell of carrion….oh ,
me, oh my, I suppose I could use a roll in the snow. Last night’s feast was repeating on me in a
series of belches and secretions.
The four-legged canines of the “pet”
class, pampered and bedecked in hearts, bells, and colourful collars, were coming
fast on short legs, bellies low to the ground effectively carving off hunks of snow.
What should I do? What would you do? I succumbed
to a facsimile of a hairy slush pile and embraced the catatonic.
All 50 teeth of my omnivorous dental ware, I hoped, showed in a baleful presentation
of sudden death. The abysmal black of my
eyes, thanks to enlarged pupils, gave a demonic accent to the whole encounter. Surely, they would accept me without the slightest need for the growl,
defecating-a personal favorite- gnashing of teeth- void of fangs- or a general
bristling of fur on my part. Oh what a tiresome misuse of energy that would be on a freezing cold day.
Was he sleeping or was he toying with us? We had met up with the two dogs on our way
into the bush. The human accompaniment had a knitted pink hat with a pink
ribbon seal at the heart that denoted support for the Cancer Society. It was the
most intriguing and warming part of her despite pretty strands of blond meandering out of the hat, bright blues of eyes and a glowing smile. We exchanged a few words before moving on and stumbling upon this fellow.
After circling the
little critter, we noted the rise and fall of his breathing. This jack or jill,
the proper name for the female and or male opossum, was uninjured and extremely
far from any hill or pails of water. He (an assumption) blocked the passage,
with a structure and colour that resembled a midsize hairy boulder. As we stepped
closer, we noticed he was tucked into a fetal position. His ears twitched, and
the length of his face was touched by light pink, his nose. In our amazement and gratitude for a forest
share with this cuddly beastie, we dug a smart phone from the recesses of zipped winter gear and
captured the jack or jill in a most natural adaptive state of defense. He or
she would be out for a staunch 2 hours. I thought this might be a tad blase and possibly restorative, as he was nocturnal.
What if the possum were laying latent in the face of
say, a wolf, but we were only armed with a point and shoot moment from a mobile.
The only damage it might produce was a flawed post to social media, autocorrect,
typo infringements or miscommunications by voice.... hmm. Suffice it to say we captured the curled critter on camera and contemplated the adaptive defense of playing dead. Well, it works for the Zombies, doesn’t it?
If only Mother Nature
had known that the simple opossum could be the greatest inspiration, maybe even the model
for a whole cultural phenomenon in movie, film video, music and storytelling.
The creation of the walking dead is embedded in the imaginations of many. Seriously,
what exactly started the trend? Was it a
fear of the ultimate virus? Did I guess
that out loud? Washing hands, avoiding
over medication on antibiotics, for everything, including the common cold and flu shot vaccinations are toted as some of the defenses against zombie and opossum extrapolations.
This jill
or jack will come back to life for another afternoon or night of configurations
and confabulations about his /her day after playing to a rapt audience of two, three including the first sighting of the amiable woman in pink with the territorial terriers. Who will this marsupial, master
of the tragic meet? Shakespeare? No.
Imagine it is a reflective butterfly who has
read Lewis Carol while only just a wee caterpillar in chrysalises, hence the innovation in the wing patterns. :) Form an
opinion but not a judgement of the intricate conception of lace, an original snow crystal on the right wing. This is part of the larger blanket on the forest floor and the gentle swirl of billions
of flakes overhead.
Many tiny incidents have evolved over time and across cultures into
catalysts for excellence. A teenage girl
has an appreciation and precision for moving rocks. in time, she gains a team and comes back from overseas with a gold medal in curling. Soldiers return from Afghanistan and take to the stage for our enrichment and theirs. Creative expression unfolds to bring light to dark times. A feckless boy floats sticks in a river. He builds tiny
boats and sets them out to sea, in a lake or pool and becomes a ship’s captain or a ship
builder for a butterfly effect.
Chaos is not always an issue of destruction, but
rather a means for positive growth or controlled chaos. Just as a child plays with friends that are not exactly
like him or her, gets caught in the rain or has to learn to play with and beyond the digital frames. These chance happenings lead to wonderful ideas of tolerance, resourcefulness and yes, wet feet- an appreciation for rain.
It takes four fingers on the hand to make a change up on a diamond. Baseball says it well for those of you that prefer sports
metaphors over nature, mirrored butterflies, snow, ice and words.
Wikipedia: Definition of the Butterfly Effect. Reflection lends a more positive light,here in
this blogpost.
http://butterflywebsite.com/
http://butterflywebsite.com/articles/constructlist.cfm?type=new
http://www.technewsworld.com/story/Butterfly-Wings-Offer-Guiding-Light-for-Nanotech-Innovation-71681.html?wlc=1296153459
CBC evening news.
