Gun Lake Ghosts and Groundhog Traps

The sickle of autumn is made ready to sever and harvest, to give and take away. Night air bites a little harder and dawn sleeps a little longer. My bones begin to brace themselves against skin and muscle, trying to store any heat offered for the desolate days to come.

I work and ready the soil in order to add more wild growing flowers and plants. Otherwise, there is little to report as summer allows the death of daises and the ending of ferns. Kendra and I speak of past lives and the ancestry from which we have yet to hear. This and other ways we leave everyone a million miles behind when we speak.

Rain flecks my window as I consider my proximity to rivers and lakes. Who learns from our choices? Who becomes enslaved? Krishnamurti says, “Relationship is communion without fear, freedom to understand each other, to communicate directly.” Suddenly I see how the ones we love become more important than love itself. Look how I have hidden in comfort and made love an object! And that is how a relationship loses depth, significance and beauty. It isn't their fault; it is mine.

Gun Lake and all those ghosts. A groundhog trap sat empty on the deck railing and when I asked about it, Dad explained it was a part of a “re-homing program.” When I requested honesty he said, “Yes; I will relocate him . . . in the lake.” In that moment, I looked deeply into my father and wondered what lesson I am supposed to learn in this moment, because surely it wasn't to hate or fear further.

I am responsible for the recession of love but also, for its true allowance in this world.