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Signs

 


It was Tuesday, March 10, last week.  It was my 47th birthday.  It was the first birthday since Scott died.  It was the first birthday since my mom moved into memory care.  Shannon was in Oregon working.  The alarm went off that morning at 4:00 am.  I had to be out the door for dog walk by 4:45 to get to my first clients by 6:30.  At 4:30, I started getting ready.  Put on my walking clothes, layering appropriately.  Put on the glowing green dog collars.  Grabbed my flashlight so I could see where I was going in the heavy darkness that is 4:45 am.  

The dogs and I headed across the pasture on the same route we've done nearly every day since Scott died, the same walk he had done nearly every day since we moved into our house.  We made our way along the creek, up the switchbacks, onto the bench behind the house.  As we walked, I was throwing myself a pity party.  Here I was, once again walking in the darkness alone.  Scott was gone.  My mom was not here.  Shannon was at work.  Woe is me.  Poor me.  I could feel the sadness spiral starting to gain momentum, and I was ready to ride it all the way to the bottom.

And then, Juno barked.  Just once, she barked a loud, heavy WOOF.  I stopped and turned around.  There, illuminated in my flashlight, standing broadside in the road about ten yards behind us, was a mountain lion.  I am guessing it was an adult female.  She was big, but not massive like a tom.  She was frozen in the road, staring at us.  We all stared back at her.  She stared.  We stared.  She stared.  We stared.  No one moved.  

I felt a yell escaping from me.  It was less of a yell, more of a roar.  It came from the depths of my soul, moving up, up, up and out of my mouth with a guttural force of a hurricane.  

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAWWWWRRRRRRRRRR.

The mountain lion turned and disappeared down the hillside into the darkness.

I continued to roar.  RRRRRAAAAAAAAWWWWWWRRRRRRRR.  I barely recognized the sound escaping from my guts.  Over and over, I roared, until my throat was sore and my voice went hoarse.  

In the moment, I was terrified.  I called my brother as the dogs and I walked home, constantly looking over my shoulder, anticipating the sensation of claws and teeth sinking into my flesh.  But nothing happened.  Once I got home and was able to process the experience, I started to see the magic in it.  I don't think the mountain lion was following us.  I think we might have flushed her out of the creek bottom as we walked along.  She went up the hill and happened to be crossing the road at the same time we were there.  Had Juno not barked, she would have passed silently behind us, and we never would have known.  It was a case of perfect, magical timing.

Sleep has been a struggle for me again for the past several nights.  Yesterday morning, after yet another terrible night of sleep, I woke up irritated.  Simmering annoyance bubbled just below the surface.  Once again, I headed out for morning dog walk.  The first wisps of dawn circled around us as we made our way up the road.  I stomped along, pissed off at everything and nothing, hating the world.  As I stomped, I glanced at the pasture to my left.  There, in the faint morning light, I could just make out the silhouettes of about 50 elk.  They were scattered across the pasture, some with their heads down grazing, others keeping a wary eye on us.  I softened my footsteps.  The dogs paid no attention to the herd as we continued our way up the road.  One by one, I saw all the elk raise their heads.

"Good morning," I whispered to them.

We walked a bit further.  The elk herd studied us as we continued on.  Without warning, one of the elk burst from the herd and started running across the pasture away from us.  I stopped.  The dogs stopped.  Within seconds, the entire herd was running.  The quiet morning air was filled with the sound of thundering hooves as the herd ran, heads held high, into the trees.  

The dogs and I turned around and headed back home.  

It's so easy to get caught up in the downward spiral of negativity, sadness, and anger.  The morning I saw the mountain lion, I was speeding down the track to the depths of sadness.  Nothing derails that ride faster than a mountain lion.  Yesterday, as I stomped along feeling mad, the elk herd reminded me that quiet softness is a much better place to exist.

I don't believe in coincidences.  We just have to be open to seeing the messages.

The magic is that you're here.

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