Hecate’s Kits

Hyacinth brought her previous year’s kits out in March (we posted in July). Hecate brought out this year’s kits in July (yes, we’re posting it in December. They don’t seem to mind).

The timing of births is a concern. Usually our raccoons child earlier. This year everything is delayed a bit. Some things – migrations, buddings, leafings, awakenings – are off two weeks, others more. All are weather related.

Or more correctly, weather-change related.

Global warming, you know.

Whatever you make think of the Republicans, they are masters of phrasing. Global Warming became Global Climate Change during Bush II’s administration because Global warming was a recognizable threat and required action.

But Global Climate Change? Heck, the weather’s always changing! No need to worry, no need to act.

Of course, now the warming/climate change has become severe enough it’s causing economic impact; insurance companies have to pay more and more claims due to weather related issues.

And they’re not the only ones.

Pretty soon us common folk will feel it in our own pockets on a monthly, weekly, and eventually daily basis. You thought not being able to get bottled water during Covid was a proble? Just wait.

The Wild is already feeling the weather’s change.

And preparing.

Wish Two-Leggers were as smart.

 

The Paraclete

Paracletes come from my work in thanatology and psychopomp. All cultures have similar creatures, all perform the same function although they appear differently. The best known (to classically educated westerners (do such creatures still exist?)) is probably Charon, the ferryman who ferried souls to Hades.

The Paraclete shows up in a few sections of one of my works-in-progress, The Shaman.

Enjoy.

The Paraclete

Robin’s mother, Pat, passed over this past weekend. We’d been preparing for her passing for quite a while. I’d been sensing her body failing off and on for the past ten or so years. For the past six or seven months, whenever we saw her socially, we’d comment to each other how “tired” she looked. Not tired in the sense of physical exhaustion from a good day’s work, tired in the sense the act of living became work.

So it was and wasn’t a surprise when we got a call she was in the hospital. She’d admitted herself. The form indicated Dehydration.

I walked into Pat’s hospital room, smiling briefly at her and then staried at the Paraclete floating over her bed.

I let Robin know that her mother wasn’t going to make it, even though she was alert and talking with us at the time.

When we were getting ready to leave, I held Pat’s hand and kissed her forehead.

She looked up at me. “You never kiss me.”


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A Summer Turkey

It is one day past the american Thanksgiving as I post this.

This video, however, is from mid May of this year. A few days past, really.

We are visited by Turkeys often.

It is a source of joy for us.

This year we saw juveniles, both Tom and Hen, and mature birds, but no Turklets.

This is a concern.

The loss of habitat I keep mentioning. We wonder if the predators got to the eggs. We won’t really know until next year.

And by then it’ll be too late.

It is a hard thing, to accept The Wild as it is. The Wild serves its own, knows its own ways, suffers us but only for a little while (in the scheme of Nature’s time).

People tend to forget we’ve only been on the planet a (very) little wild. Our kind – homo sapiens – has been on the planet about a quarter as long as Neanderthals walked about.

Some say they’re gone, extinct.

I honestly don’t know. They had bigger brains than us and were better adapted to northern climates than we are or have been. That much smarter, maybe they simply hid.

Do you know you wouldn’t recognize a Neanderthal if you saw one walking down the street or in the grocery or in the mall if they wore modern clothing? Forget what you were told about how they looked, they looked much like us, only more solid, more muscular, more body hair.

Did I ever tell you I’m on record as having benched 350# ten for ten?

Or that I like the cold?

Or that Susan (wife/partner/Princess) won’t braided my back when I was asleep?

Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

 

Meteor Man (finale)

This is the final installment of a relatively new piece, Meteor Man. First written in July ’94, I was never satisfied with it until my last rewrite this past September.

It’s a longish piece at 11,300 words, so I’ve broken it into five sections. I hope it’s worth it.

Enjoy.

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Read Meteor Man (part 2).
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Meteor Man (finale)

Ellis could not be quieted. “You lost an asherteam? How the hell can you lose an asherteam? Two men, maybe, but two men and thirty cubic meters of state-of-the-art digrig? Where’s Singer? It’s about time somebody took hold of this thing.”

“He was piloting the asher.”

She stared at him then laughed. “Let’s say he’s already taken charge. Let’s say he’s already gone after Geertz. Let’s say if you don’t hear from him in three days you call me.”

“Singer sent you a message before we lost contact.”

“Yup, and it’s shit. Something walked all over it. Can’t make a thing out of it.” Her face drew close to his. “Are you sweating, Mr. Meninquez?”


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A Healthy Young Buck Flicks His Tail

There is something wonderful about nature.

Especially when paired with some of the best jazz recordings ever.

1959.

The year that changed Jazz forever.

Giants walked in those days.

And a deer walks in our yard.

As I often state, we are blessed.