The Dens of Our Lives

As I sit on the "dog porch" throughout the day (Cocoa's performances require accompaniment.), I find it fruitful thinking time. Of late I have been musing on the holiness of things. Our life here in these sacred surroundings seems twice blessed by peace and joy. The trees are so lovely now in fresh green leaf and burgeoning crown. It is among them, in the wooded spaces, that I prefer to wander. On one such recent meander I chose to photograph all of the dens our resident wildlife have made. The smallest and farthest removed from the woods belongs to Heidi, the baby gopher tortoise, who seems to guard our front door. She chose to make her home beside the gate to the entry garden. 

The largest, established well before we took up residence on this land, is deep in the front woods near the base of the largest oak tree on our property. Something big lives there, but it keeps its identity secret. Perhaps a fox. Who knows? There are signs of coming and going but no track that is identifiable. We are not to know, that's sure. Other holes of varying sizes are scattered about the property, sometimes hidden and sometimes in surprising spots, like under a broken pot in a garden bed or beneath the burn barrel. Some are obviously home to larger tortoises and others may now shelter armadillo or other critters. For me, who declared at five my intention to become a hermit, holes, dens and hiding places hold great fascination. I have created many of them for myself over the years, so it feels just right to find so many here. I no longer need them for myself, but I understand and honor the needs of others to have them. 

And so I judiciously mow around them, get another barrel for burning, and step carefully in the undergrowth, preserving the holiness. There is plenty of room for all here in our country space. It is a privilege to live among such creatures as make their home on this land.