 Tonight we sat in our small, cut-out of the ghetto backyard wonderland. As I eased back into my discount easy-plastic-chair I noticed a movement from the trees. It was in the corner pine tree actually -the sad little tree that had been overcome with thick layers of English Ivy when we first moved into the house. The branches still lingering towards the mid-to-top of the tree have always looked a bit too weak to support any real tree crawling wild life.
I walked towards it – curious. The first thing I saw was the limb-like thin tail that cupped the aging pine below it. Then -so slowly- a somewhat shaggy body appeared from the branches above. A very scruffy creature moved into the glow of the tiki-torches and stared us down. This was a possum and he was very much: I am the marsupial of this American landscape bitches! (I have to wonder why all of our local wild life are so taken with calling us bitches. It simply must be the neighborhood.) I respected his quiet battle cry right from the beginning. I watched, nearly mesmerized by how well he used his tail to move down the small tree next to the antique evergreen. He was mostly white with large patches of gray/yellow moving through his fur. He gave us a direct stare and said -with this silent conversation- “why yes, I’m an ugly, scavenger sort to your untrained eyes, but I am a KING in my world.” |
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