Whining Wildlife

In a classroom today I noticed an out-of-kilter folding table that needed its legs back at right angles. I gave them a few efficient, hard kicks. Tatiana (from Russia), standing behind me, said, “I can always tell a woman who lives alone.”

Coyotes woke me up this morning just before dawn with their shrill yelps. I always feel as though they’re demanding something of me. —”Get up now, Allison. Bring us your leftovers.” They don’t have the nice, bass, outdoorsy sound of a wolf, but more that of a miniature sausage-dog yipping at the mailman.

It gets dark at 4:30 now.

It is my suspicion that Vermont leads the nation in the dirt-road count. Anna noticed the preponderance of earthen avenues, too. They get vicious slick in the rain. My own muddy motorway will be a nightmare starting next month through May, particularly the winding, mile-long hill with the steep drop-off. Oh, and there’s the stretch where the pond hugs the road, only two feet to the right of and six inches below my tires. It scares me to death. Every time I pass it I think first of Edward Kennedy (may he rest in peace) and then I picture myself, like Mary Jo Kopechne (minus the senator), trapped in the icy waters. Her story still haunts me.

I have a brand-new camera but I haven’t taken pictures with it. Here, I’ll show you my work area, which is out-of-control. If I’d stop messing around on this blog, maybe I’d have time to pay long-overdue bills (which occupy the entirety of that heap at the foot of the bookcase; it’s deeper than it looks).