Commotion

Middle of the night, sounds like a young war. I'm not fearless but I have to get up, go see what the matter is. Two coons fighting over rabbit bones. One of them is certainly rabid, foaming, hysterical, I kill him with the shovel; the other one shuffles off, looking back over him shoulder. Deal with the carcass later, but then I can't get back to sleep, the violent interlude, coon blood on my shovel, roll a smoke, get a drink. Consider the manic warrior, in his underwear, a flashlight in one hand, a garden tool in the other, he'd rather be reading Prost, or sleeping, but he is excited into action. It's easy to achieve a killing rush, fear, the dark, personal safety, but so much more difficult to calm down, once the blood is flowing. Temper. That state in which the unthinkable is easily done. I build a punky wrack fire and heat some water, wash my hair, muttering the whole time. It's good I live alone because I would never commit myself to the looney bin. My actions seem perfectly natural, a response to nature. There was a single crow this morning, yesterday, that stopped me in my tracks, I was checking my mail, drinking coffee, going about my routine; it flew in from the north, squawked and landed behind my truck. Their walk is lumbering, it lumbered toward the puddles, I eased out the door to see where it was going, yes, of course, it wants a frog for breakfast. I want bacon and potatoes and fried eggs, another cup of coffee. We've created a generation of young people who kill as a matter of course, we make excuses, but the fact is we've trained them to kill, it bleeds over into everyday life, one crossed wire and they're shooting up a mall. The price we pay for spreading democracy. Of course Thoreau is right, better just to raise beans and play the flute, build a shack and live simply, but there are these other forces. Emerson and Hawthorne are European, Thoreau is American, Like Whitman, and dear sweet Emily. The voice opens out, inbred in different ways, the way the moon hangs over mountains. It seems to mean something, appears. The trap slaps shut, I kill another mouse, am I good or not? I wonder.