And so it goes.
One last night sleeping with the critters sparkling and howling, toothsome beyond our bedroom windows. Or fluorescent on the walls. If you dare to take a flashlight to it, prepare for the willies.
Sparkling since these parts are known for all sorts of nocturnal nasties that prey on the weak and scare the crap out of the meek among us. Don't even mention the 8-legged, furry things. Please. (Meek, meaning me.)
The howling of coyote packs braying within arm-reach has never lulled me into wonderland. Rather, it has two years woven into the fabric of dreams-turned-into-nightmares. Blood-thirsty and celebratory predators. Too close. Too close.
You want vampire thrills? Sleep with the windows open (or closed) smack against the Catalina State Park one night. And prepare to hear the unworldly screaming of the night throbbers and bounders. The barbershop quartet of nature's wild dogs, set upon an innocent stray bunny or maybe even a neighbor's dog. Not a pretty sound. Vincent Price soundtracks thrive out here in the dust and cactus pricks.
The unholy celebration of the prey snatched and devoured, shared with the pack. Covering ears does no good, the sound seeps into the bloodstream, pulsing with each heartbeat. Screams of the innocent drown out by the feasters, grow faint with the transcendent night skies, stars applauding with their wordless blinks.
Will I miss this desolate place? I am grateful for the time spent, the lessons learned, the humility gained. I am forever grateful for the ego's deflation and the spirit tested along with the physical challenges. It will never be forgotten. Nor re-lived except in unfortunate dreamscapes.
It has been a road taken and one to bid adieu.
Onward to the next corner. Life is wonderful and excitement beckons.
(I love salmon.)
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