Wanderings through art, film and travel by Hal Weaver.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Some Times They're Playing Possum and Sometimes They're Just Dead
Found this little guy in the yard. At first I couldn't tell if he was really dead, knocked out or pretending to be dead. I went up to the house and got the camera and he was still there, so I gave him a nudge and he was stiff and cold. I didn't see any evidence of violence (after decades of watching CSI this and that, I've developed my cop-mind), no teeth marks or blood, so what happened? He is tiny, about five inches long without the tail, so a youngin' not long out of the nest. Barely got started in life and was cut down. Sometimes nature is cruel, actually indifferent, we project the cruel part, and will take who or whatever makes a mistake. Another reminder to live each day as if it was our last. "Freshen your mind with death" as the Bushido says.
Whenever I find a dead animal, I always enjoy the opportunity to closely examine an animal that when alive, I might only get a glimpse of as it scurries off to escape me. I love the the curl of his tail and the tiny hand-like paws. The fur is beautiful too, the delicate white hairs floating above the gray fur. I took my photos, then got out the shovel and gave this baby a proper burial.