Monday, April 20, 2009

My Morning.

Despite my lovely poem, we awoke this morning to cold rain -- which the weather channel assured us would continue into tomorrow and mix with snow. As you can imagine, I was somewhat grumpy at this, knowing, as I did, that I would still be out this morning setting up the Earth Week scavenger hunt -- which many classes would probably not even do in this weather. And so, at 6:50 in the morning, I set off on my bicycle with the signs that I had carefully enclosed in zipper bags and my trusty clothespins. Riding a bicycle on a day like today means that not only was there water pouring down from the sky, but also splashing up, mixed with mud, from below. And that's being optimistic. I should probably say it was mixed with mud and worm guts, because there were so many worms seeking refuge from the deluge that the whole world smelled wormy. So I was grumpy. And muttering obscenities as I had to take my hood off (needed the peripheral vision, you see), exposing my head and neck to the water.

And then... and then things started to happen. I saw movement and slowed my riding. A coyote was walking across the trail. I stopped to hang a sign; she walked closer and closer to me. Finally, about 15 feet from where I stood, she froze and turned her head to look at me. I stared at her. She stared at me. We shared a moment between human and wildness. Finally, she turned and trotted on in her direction of travel and, having several more signs to hang, I rode on in mine.

A trickster in Native American mythology, and a bane on suburban existence, these
canines maybe get a bad reputation that they don't deserve. The are just like us, doing what they need to do to survive in a world that is changing fast. Everything, it seems, that does well with the changes we humans have made becomes a problem species for us. The tricksters are the only ones that can thrive. This coyote was not at all mangy looking; she was smallish, and fluffy and very healthy looking. She didn't seem like a pest, or a dog-killer or a baby-eater. And she opened my eyes to the world on a rainy morning.

Anyhow, the morning was transformed. What would happen next? I noticed ducks landing on the pond, their wings pointed down and showing their blues and whites, the water splashing and sparkling. Songbirds abounded. A red tailed hawk swooped down right in front of me -- I could see his orange tail and speckled belly, I could see the power in his wing stroke and the genius in his hollow-boned, aerodynamic design.

Magic. There is magic in everything. Beauty in every rainy grey day. Opportunity in every moment. Open your eyes and look.

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