The Furious Spinner

Today was my last full day here at the casita. I stayed here all day, writing. It rained part of the time while I typed in the Quail House. I finished my last "mesquite" story. Usually I just made up a story and told it as I was thinking of it under the mesquite tree. This last one, "Silver," I wrote up and printed it off. Then I went and read it under the mesquite tree as the sun was going down. Earlier I had seen a hawk fly to the tree on the south side of the house and look around for something good to eat (I presumed). As I finished reading "Silver," the owl called out. I went back to the casita to prepare dinner. The caretaker knocked on the door and said, "Kim, you've got to see this!" I ran into the house and we went outside (providing an opportunity for the dog to jump on me and bite my hand; no skin broken, thank you). In the east, a double rainbow arched in front of clouds that were all puffed up and black with storm. We laughed and danced around in the rain. It was cold and wet, so we didn't linger .

At one point as I was making dinner, I stopped and thought, "Oh, I have to hear the coyotes my last night." I stepped outside and they were howling, singing up a storm (almost literally). The clouds in the west caught the last rays of the sun, turning themselves scarlet. The coyotes stopped only a few minutes later, so I was glad I had gone outside. When I was eating dinner, I thought, "Now I've just got to see the javelinas." Soon after the caretaker knocked again and I went into the house and outside. It was still light and a herd of javelinas were digging around the front beds, about seven adults, with several little ones further away from the house. They were much bigger than I thought they'd be, black and hairy and as big as farm pigs. They didn't seem in the least concerned by us. A couple came up onto the porch where we were standing. The caretaker said they stank (stunk?). "Like what?" I asked. "Like pigs," she said. Two of the pigs started having sex on the porch. "So that's where little javelinas come from," I said.

Later, as I was typing up (and embellishing) another mesquite tale, Mario called from Portland. So tonight I had heard from the South (hawk), the East (rainbow and javelinas), the West (coyotes and the owl), and the North (Mario).

I thank all the directions, what is above and below. I thank this place, the Visibles, Invisibles, human, not human. It's been a time. Blessed be.

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