This odd and dark little poem came to me last night as I was taking Finbar for his final outing up and down the lane at 11pm. There was a bit of a moon, the stars, and it was still light on the western horizon. There in never any traffic on this lane at night. We get maybe half a dozen cars go past all day. Just the neighbours.
I like walking at night when it’s still light enough to see. There are rabbits and hares, sometimes martens, deer and fox. And lots of owls. It’s their place, not ours. I keep Finbar on his lead so he doesn’t disturb them. It isn’t wilderness, just small holdings and woodland, but it doesn’t belong to people, no matter what they say, and however close they shave their lawns.
Jilly’s Jim Harrison quote for the days of unreason challenge seems quite appropriate.
“His mind’s all black thickets and blood” from Songs of Unreason
It must be hard to be
a rabbit, said the child,
to hide beneath the hedge the day
for fear of man and running dog,
the shadow of the hawk,
to tremble night time at the sound
of hunting owl, the moonlit fox.
Rabbit listened sadly,
wept for the gentle child,
said, Life is hard for timid folk,
but little one, you’ll find
that unlike you, we’ve naught to fear
from our own kin and kind.