Friday: The humidex approaches forty degrees celcius and the wind blows wild but I decide to see how close to my island I can get. I struggle for the first ten minutes, digging in against the current, pulling hard against the wind. But then there is a moment where I fix my gaze on the white caps and accept that the elements must do what they do. I relax. Everything changes. There is no longer any resistance between us and, although the water feels heavy under my paddle, my kayak skims easily amidst the waves.
The boaters and fishermen think I am crazy, tossing about in the wind and waves, but the challenge helps me focus, regain my center, keeps me sane. And there are rewards along the way, calm waters in eddies and bays, sheltered lee shores and buffer zones. And, of course, at the end, an island I can call my own. Not really of course. The island belongs to the plover and frog, and juniper bushes and jack pines. There are also wasps and a giant dock spider with equally giant fangs who seems, so far, as distressed by me as I am of her and has, with the exception of the day we met, given me wide berth. But mostly I've felt quite welcome.
Lupine
In the evening, over a glass of wine at the neighbour's, D. tells me there is a pack of wolves hunting in the area. I laugh, thinking she is trying to frighten me into not going out at night.
"No," she says, "I'm quite serious. They've had a few kills over at the bison farm down the road."
Then she tells me about the mangey wolf who died under their cabin over a winter past.
I am impressed but not concerned.
Saturday: The humidity finally breaks and we (perhaps only I) revel in the relief of thunderstorms and, at times torrential, rain. In the evening I decide to watch a movie while the storm lights up the heavens above and rumbles the earth below. I choose a horror flick "Blood and Chocolate". I mistakenly believe it's about vampires and truffles. It's about werewolves. I no longer have the fortitude to walk across the road to the bathroom after dark.
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Essentials
Today we saw beautiful red fox with a fresh kill- a rabbit, possibly, or maybe a groundhog- trotting alongside the road. We stopped for a photo but a giant monster truck pulled up behind us then peeled off, spinning wheels and spitting gravel. How can people not be awed by such and amazing creature? Of all the wild creatures here, this is the one I most wish, if there would be no consequences, I could tame.
1 comment:
I know what you mean, I used to see fox about once a year, in Canada. I always felt like it was a friend popping up to say hello.
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