As Darkness Approached

Darkness Approaching – Photo: L. Weikel

I took a walk by myself this evening. Well, no; that’s not true. I may have been devoid of human accompaniment, but I was not by myself in the least. As darkness approached, I was surrounded by life.

First of all, Spartacus was with me. He is, if I do say so myself, a most excellent companion. He’s always game to take a walk, no matter what time of day or evening. And he really only bristles with antagonism and hubris when he encounters other dogs.

I’m grateful that he’s not a big barker. In fact, he rarely woofs, arfs, or growls on a walk. This fact permits us to wander hither and yon throughout the countryside, his presence rarely frightening the local fauna. Part of that may be due to the cataracts I can see starting to form in his dark brown eyes. He doesn’t seem nearly as aware as he used to be of the turkeys galavanting across the road or the deer stamping their feet in in the field as we pass. Or maybe he is, and he’s just older and wiser and knows those are battles he no longer chooses to indulge in.

Tonight, though, we were both in the dark. A new moon is approaching – this coming Tuesday, in fact, at 10:41 p.m. – so the night sky was resplendent with stars. At least, it was when we emerged from the tree tunnel. But inside that canopy it was startlingly dark, especially since the leaves are thick and formidable at this time of the year, yielding few gaps that permit even starlight to twinkle through.

I Should’ve Tried

I actually thought of all of you as we approached the tree tunnel. I almost took a photo of it; it looked so formidable and just a tiny bit spooky. I should’ve at least tried, but I talked myself out of it, telling myself it wouldn’t look like what I was seeing. (Which is really a weird thing, when I think about it. It’s not as if I would’ve been wasting film if it didn’t turn out. So why didn’t I just try?)

Of course, the arching of the trees made it look like we were entering a cave, which was the vision I wanted to capture. Just recently I’d read an allusion to how caves archetypally harbor scary things to humans, and I remember thinking that a little odd and not necessarily true for me, at least. Fear is not my initial reaction when I think of caves. I’d say curiosity is my fundamental sense.

Even if a bear or a dragon were to be in a cave, I don’t know that I would assume that resident would necessarily want to kill or harm me. (My rational side says, as I write that, “WHY NOT?” and I can’t really give a good answer.)

Perhaps it’s because I’ve actually discovered a number of amazing Beings inside caves, archetypal energies who’ve become allies and helped me negotiate life in ways big and small through the years. My toughest teacher resides in a cave.

Definitely Not Alone

But I digress. Not only was Spartacus a welcome companion throughout the walk (and especially as we entered the tree tunnel), but once inside the darkness I felt Seen by so many. Lightning bugs seemed to deliberately dance in front of me, almost leading me along the path through the woods. Bats darted here and there, and ever so slightly, at the tips of my eardrums, I thought I could hear their squeaks. Screech owls whinnied but sounded further away than usual. A wind moving through the forest high above me rustled the leaves aloft but left me with just the imaginings of a breeze.

Geese started squawking in the valley below and I wondered if one of their own had become an evening meal to a fox or perhaps even a Great Horned owl.

Thoughout the entire journey, but especially within the tree tunnel, crickets and katydids and tree frogs sang a constant background that almost sounded like a deliberate round, factions stopping and starting, a bunch to my left picking up the tune just as others on my right tapered off. Come to think of it, those bats were darting pretty darn close to my poofy pandemic hair for me to hear their little squeaks.

Ha!

Even as I write this now, I’m sitting with the front door open and all those familiar voices are continuing to serenade me. Crickets, katydids, and tree frogs. Even the screech owls. But not a single coyote. Aaaah. And there it is; it’s time to wrap this up. Donkey brays her say-so, and so it is.