And So It Begins, Again

Late, very dark, one night a couple of weeks ago, I found myself strolling out to the back acre,  large plastic cup in hand, with a piece of cardboard over the cup's opening. Inside was the first mouse of post-summer, caught in the basement by our Super Hunter Cats. Last winter I did this 18 times, in the silent silver of the snow, having slipped on my big furry boots and boat of a down jacket. This time it was warm, breezy, and I was accompanied loudly by crickets, frogs and tree frogs. I would have been barefoot, but you never know whether there is...SOMEthing...there in the dark, so my rain boots were on my bare feet.                   (drawing by Anne Marie Teall)

(Here's an improvement over last year: now I generally don't have to also catch them myself!)

The beautiful starry nights cause me to stay out for a while after the mouse has flown away into the brush...so far I haven't had to go out in the rain, which is fine by me. It's become a time I look forward to, the break out of the lit house into the peaceful expansiveness of our park, the huge squares of moonlight broken by tree shadows.

I've gotten so lackadaisical about it that last time, not being a convenient moment, I just stuck the cup on top of the fridge 'til I could go out! (This was a mouse that had expired during a night of being played with...the one very live, lively one, which we chased around Son#2's bedroom for a while, wouldn't have stayed there long.)

The world has gotten quiet in the past few weeks. In mid-September the noise in the night rang and surrounded. Last night I took a mouse out (#7 for the season) and heard only one cricket along with the pre-storm roar of wind in the yellow poplars. Soon it will just be the breeze in the drying leaves - and then, just the crunch of my boots on the snow.

(Super Hunter Cat 
Silverstein chasing and then jumping up the tree I was dragging to the branch pile.)


I'm guessing that when it's 2:30 on a January night, I might not look forward to these strolls so much.