Two three-hour stream studies before dinner. A two-and-a-half hour block of animal presentations after dinner.
It has been a long day.
Everything about me is dog tired: my muscles, my feet, my eyelashes are like lead weights on my eyelids. I've been outside all day long; my face and lips are sun burnt.
You'd think the last thing I'd want to do when I got home is be outside, but I find all I want to do is sit on the porch in the dark, admiring a perfectly clear, bright velvet sky harboring millions of little stars and a storybook crescent moon.
Everything is still. No wind. There's a chill in the air, but a long sleeved shirt is enough.
Something in the woods crashes through the leaves. All I can tell is that it's going downhill and isn't very graceful. It's probably a skunk or a opossum--something with short legs--but I also dream up bears and coyotes... (wishful thinking). Whatever it is, it's less than 50 yards from me.
I find myself thinking, "If only I could see in the dark. Like a cat."
I follow the creature, whatever it is, with my ears until it's too far away for me to discern any details about footsteps. My eyes stab into the darkness. I'm trying so hard to see just a little further, to make the little light from my living room window work more to my advantage, but no matter how hard I try, I just can't see well in the dark.
Imagine all the things I'd discover if I could.
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