A Brush With Death And Life

Blood in its mouth, still red-wet, over bared badger teeth. Eyes sunken, dehydrated, unconnected. For a moment the creature seems to breathe: the wind moved its fur, that was all, but Dog and I are wary still: a force of life hovers in the air: a sense of displacement.
I could touch that thick fur but a death taboo stays my hand.
Dexterous paws with dangerous claws lie quiet. Pads of feet: so common to mammals: thoughts of kinship jump.
A woodpecker knocks, somewhere in the trees: it harshly tolls.
Off the lane and into the woods we walk, climb over the incumbent giants there. On each storm-felled tree something new grows. Green pushes from the cold earth, fells me with delight. Life: life is here: we are all here: my roots reach down: down to the molten heart of the earth.
On the return journey I put my hand on the fur of the road-killed brock: thick, wiry, soft, like a good paintbrush.


I see all too many examples of road kill in my travels as a rare blood courier. I say a quick prayer that their deaths were as quick and as painless as possible - and for The Father to bring them to an eternity of wandering and peace. :-)
Trisha said…
Aww, poor little bubby. I'm always sad to see animals dead.
PK HREZO said…
The ol honey badger??

I've always hated seeing roadkill, but you did a nice job of describing it thru words. :)
Lisa Southard said…
All the signs pointed to this badger meeting a swift death, after a very jolly life in the woods. Can imagine that a badger afterlife would mostly consist of living in the woods too.

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