laugardagur, apríl 25, 2015


Coyote in the Bronx. Puma in Hollywood. Boar in the city of bears, in Berlin, now Boar-lin? Even the fertile family of squirrels who have made the neighbors' eaves into a rodent-filled clown car make me smile.

I cringe at the news that escaped bison, west-bound, took the mighty Hudson in easy hooféd stride but were felled with lead. It is well that the authorities raised their rifles with sadness. Show some respect. These cliff-headed beasts were the gods of the plains. Make way, make way, and tip your brow, raise your eyes in awe as they pass.

If I had it to choose which kind of muzzle were aimed at me in the assumed safety of my streets,
the one that barks bullets or the one that bites, I would chose the whiskered one. We have claimed everything here. Would we lose so much by giving back the night? It was never our native land, and we hold it by force.

Bring the cat in and go inside. Let the coyotes patrol our cities for us. Make way, make way for the gods of the land. Tip your brow and raise your eyes in awe.

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