Monday, September 3, 2007
We sing a eulogy to the brave stoat.
Hidden from the eyes of many humans things live, in the stone walls and hedges and remnants of old woods. A world goes on around the humans, full of life and fierce in tooth and claw.
And when we came back from our walk we found, on the path by the house, the body of the stoat. So small. So perfect. So beautiful even in death. We sing a song in praise of the hunter, fighter of rat and biter of snake, who will kill a rabbit, dance like a weasel, mesmerize prey. Teeth like the finest, sharpest needles, shining eyes and soft fur. Fast, like lightening.
Still warm when we found him, we mourn the stoat, wild creature of the dark woods.