We had a young visitor here from England a few days ago. He had set himself the goal of seeing some wildlife while in Canada: moose, bears, coyotes, skunks, chipmunks, racoons, robins, blue jays, cardinals. We had to apologize that there were no moose in the neighbourhood, but we thought he could easily add redwing blackbirds to his list by visiting the nearby drainage pond. We were wrong.
Since we moved into our beautiful new home here on the edge of town fifteen years ago, the coyotes have moved on, the frog chorus has gone quiet, one lonely dove is left mourning its solitude after the eviction of killdeers from the soccer field, no crickets, a single bee visiting the hosta blossoms, an occasional whiney mosquito to remind us that we are lowly prey as well as top predator. We lament the retreat of wild things and beckon them back with an offering of echinacea and milkweed and dill. The odd butterfly stops by for a nectar snack. So far, no caterpillars.
When I proposed a neo-einsteinism a few weeks ago, I was having some fun while hinting at the ruckus made by our species in our search for safety, comfort and beauty. Remember this?
God plays dice.
People play the odds.
Smart people play the violin.
Wise people play with earplugs.
Every sour note is a lesson learned
as we progress
from Turkey in the Straw
to The Lark Ascending.
Practice.
Canada geese have begun their training flights over my house. Lots of end-of-summer squawking over here in this neigbourhood.
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