Last night, at one in the morning, we went down to the edge of the water to watch the beavers.
There were three of them. Momma Daddy and baby we assumed.
They had no fear of us. They carried on, though we may have disrupted their real activity. They come each night and work at carrying away all the branches that we’ve piled up – from the big poplar tree we had to cut down. They bit through our big extension cord. The one that runs the pump we use to water the garden and the grass and have our summer showers in river water warmed by it’s time in the hose under the sun.
The biggest one – the daddy beaver, I assume, was eating. Chewing the bark off of a branch out in the water.
The baby swam right up to the shore and walked almost out of the water looking right at us. At one point I said, “What if he comes and bites you?” and Mansel laughed.
The medium sized one stayed close, but not as close as the small and curious one.
They have no fear of us.
I enjoy recording this.
It isn’t poetry or fiction or an essay. Not yet. It’s just a moment, on the shore, with my love.
I’m glad I went out to see them.
So often I just stay inside, where it is warm and the tv runs on and on and… I miss the wonder of this place.
I know that and I beat myself up about it.
No use in the beatings.
Better I should just do like I did last night. Finish my evening ablutions, put on my boots, take my beloved’s hand and walk to the edge of the water. Be outside with him in the dark.
For sooner than I can truly grasp / know / fathom… he could be gone from me and this place as well.
This is the moment.
This is the place.
This is my life. And it is a wonder.
The stars were bright and when we got cold, we came back inside.
Have a great weekend ~p