Mid-November

As the days float by, I begin to feel more and more content in my solitude. As I become more relaxed, my consciousness expands and I begin to notice more and more inhabitants of the forest. Or maybe they sense that the environment is safe in spite of the intruder and they start coming around more. I am grateful for their presence, for they remind me of the incredible myriad of ways the creation has manifested. I love quietly observing their natural movements and gestures. They are all so unique and clever in their own little worlds.

The weather pattern has at least become predictable—if it's cloudy, it's bound to be warmer. One cloudy day, the temperature must have reached 75 degrees—real close to my perfect temperature. And I'm not the only one who is happy about the warm climate. . . so are the bugs. Before I left Arizona, a friend Cindy declared, "Good gosh, I wouldn't live in buggy Texas for anything." And here are those bugs... in late November. Every time I go out on the deck, I find a whole conglomeration of beetles, grasshoppers and wasps flying about to entertain me. Every one of them is sounding its unique clicker or clacker. I remain amazed at the variety and I rather enjoy the tunes of their bacchanalia. Sing!!

But some days are clear—and very cold. One frosty day, a chameleon tumbles from the roof onto the deck practically at my feet. When I open the glass door to rescue him, he appears to be frozen stiff. Yet when I pick him up, I think I detect a faint wiggle. After ten minutes lying on the table, he has not moved, so I assume he is not going to revive. However, when I pick him up to move him back outside, he comes to life and starts to squirm right out of my hand. Quickly, I close my fingers gently around him, until I can figure out what to do with him.

On my bare palm, his little body feels just like an icicle, so I continue holding him to warm him up. Finally, he comprehends that he is in a good (meaning warm) place and he settles back to enjoy it. He enjoys to such an extent that, when I try to put him down, he tenaciously clings to my hand. Still I have not figured out what to do with him. Obviously, I can't put him outside to refreeze, yet I am not sure it will be safe for him to be running loose in the house. As a temporary solution, I find a large coffee can to board him in—but he is definitely not excited about that prospect. What does one do with a lizard anyway?

The chameleon was very dark brown with black spots when I rescued him. By noon the next day, he is bright green and has the run of the house. Finally, one warm day, when I leave the door open, he migrates outside to the carport. Occasionally, I see him scampering freely among my gardening tools.

I am beginning to see evidence of larger creatures too. One night while I am working away at the computer, the temperature is so balmy I have left the door wide open—with the screen closed. Breathing in the fresh air, I feel as if I am out of doors. Suddenly, I hear an animal burst through the fence making a lot of noise in the tangle of the thicket of briars and ivy, which have used the barbed wire fence for a trellis. Quickly, I turn on the outdoor floodlight. But I am not fast enough. I only catch a glimpse of an animal that could be a large domestic cat.
A few nights later, again when sitting at the computer, I look up and see a fox right under the Chinese elm. A real sharp-looking fellow he is, with a grayish coat, orange on his face and chest, with a distinct white patch under his chin.

I hate to tell on him, but it appears that he is eating birdseed—the tiny thistle seed that I put out for the goldfinches. I am surprised he never seems to notice me, even though the light is shining inside. He finally takes off running toward the front of the house. Here I sit making some notes about my life in the woods and a fox shows up for me to write about. I love it.

Of course, I think he deserves better than thistle seed, so I start breaking a chunk off the suet-cakes I've made for the birds to feed him. I place it on a plate at the edge of the deck. Every morning, the food has disappeared, but I don't see him again for weeks. Evidently, he has started putting this locale later on his circuit.

Several weeks go by until one night I happen to be up past midnight. I look up and there is the fox again, right on the deck. Although he is hardly eight feet away, he appears to be totally oblivious to my presence. I can see him perfectly; he is so sleek and beautiful. After he relishes the suet with gusto, he carefully picks out one certain seed from the birdseed mix in the basket. Not appearing to be in the slightest hurry, he crunches on one, then goes for another. He appears to sense some need for caution because he stops and looks straight at me a couple of times. Somehow the glass must give a reflection that makes me invisible; for, even though I finally have to relax my motionless stance to move slightly, he doesn't seem to notice.

Later that week when I tell my friend Auriel about my fox neighbor, she gets out her animal medicine book. The section on Fox was quite interesting. The fox has the ability to experience oneness with his environment. Therefore, he is so adaptable he can disappear into the background right before your eyes. His keen awareness gives him the ability to know instantly what will happen next.

Then I get a big surprise. . . my suet feeder basket disappears from the Chinese elm with a fresh cake of suet. Now a fox cannot climb a tree, so either the wind or a friendly accomplice, like a raccoon, knocked it down. However, I figure it was too big for a raccoon to carry off. Even though I have never actually seen a raccoon around here yet, I know they are common in this region. The bulbs I've planted in pots have been messed with a couple of times—tiny paw prints that indicate raccoon.

So one night, I decide to stay up late enough to see what goes on after midnight. To be able to see everything, I turn on the floodlight, since it has never phased the fox. Again it's after midnight when the fox finally shows up for dinner. In the meanwhile, I haven't seen any sign of another critter. The fox looks quite friendly and approach-able, but I don't dare let him see me. For a moment, I think of trying to see if I can get him used to my presence. Then I shake my head and admonish myself, realizing how stupid it is to want to befriend and tame these wonderful wild creatures. For what? So they will be stiff conditioned unnatural creatures like we humans?