and that bird can sing. the cat and i both agree.... well, the cat seems to prefer my whistling like the bird to the actual... no, not a bird at all but cecilia bartoli on Dreams & Fables: Gluck Italian Arias... there she goes hitting a rapid succession of high ones... a forceful fluttering razor effect that i suspect you can only get from a scrupulously cultured voice that is - at one and the same time - holding to years of discipline and letting it all go to hell. is it a butterfly or a mountain range?

chilly in here...

the other day - must have been tuesday - right after school, i look out the window and see two seniors. one has a large plastic garbage bag and the other is carrying a tall black wastebasket. they are looking intensely at something and slowly moving towards the inner elbow of the building right at the end of my room.

then i notice the raccoon.

it is a large raccoon, a big brown ball of fur with a tail that has seen better days (all wrecked, kind of plucked like), and the beast is scampering - as they do - on what seem to be tiptoes towards the same corner. it seems to want to nest in the leafpile that's accumulated there.

but these boys... what are they doing? they are trying to catch the large raccoon... with a garbage bag and a wastebasket... yes, we have the brightest students in all of lake county... proud of it...

i open the window and say, leave it alone... it will bite you... (do they hear me?) IT WILL BITE YOU... and the boys back off. and the beast nestles into the cozy dry leaves.

i call the dean's office, and mrs. gille calls mundelein's animal control. then mrs. gille calls me over the p.a. in my room (i never will get over the thrill of talking to my wall):

"brother tom?"

"yes."

"animal control wants to know if it's laying down upright or on its side."

"upright, why?"

"because if they come out here they will euthanize it."

"oh"

"so if it's not acting sick, maybe we should just let it be."

"ok... good idea... it'll probably just wander off on its own after sundown."

come morning there's just an empty depression in the leaves where a large raccoon had found a few hours peace.

end of story...

this morning i get a note from mom:

A deer found it's way onto the frozen lake last night and Meg watched it die there. This morning it is still there (of course) and the big black birds have found it and I just don't want to look out at the otherwise beautiful lake!

winter is tough on critters...

Often in winter the end of the day is like the final metaphor in a poem celebrating death: there is no way out.

Agustin Gomez-Arcos

 

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