Raccoon
August 19, 2009. Maine.
Last night, around midnight, our lights were out, but I wasn't asleep.
The night was very quiet, there was no wind. So when I heard something outside on the deck it was very distinct. It was some kind of movement, soft but large. Not an insect, banging against the screen, something else. It sounded like something brushing against the shingles. I sat up, listening, and when I heard it again I got up and moved quietly across the room. I leaned down into the open window that overlooked the deck and switched on the outside light.
On the deck were two raccoons, one large, one small, both of them staring at me through their dark masks, like two robbers caught at the teller's window at the bank.
The mother was on her hind legs, her front paws neatly crooked in front of her, like a housewife's over her midriff. Her dark fur was full and bushy, standing out around her like a luxuriant halo. Her belly was pale, and her face and ears and paws were very dark. She stood up as tall as she could get, watching me. She craned her neck, moving her head very slightly from side to side. She gave a quiet, open-mouthed hiss: "Hahh." It was a small, precise sound. It was meant in defense, but it was not frightening. It seemed more like the chanting of a spell, like some kind of rune or wild magic. Standing upright, the mother looked like a strange, small, beautiful person, with her delicate curled hands, her elegant masked face, her graceful shifting movement.
The cub had slid sideways, moving underneath the bench on the outer edge of the deck. From there he peered out at me, his round innocent eyes shining in the light. The mother stood still, weaving slightly from side to side, like a Javanese dancer. We stared at each other and then she gave another quiet "Hahh," another small piece of raccoon magic. Then she dropped onto all fours and rumbled over to the bench, where she slid underneath it, next to the cub. Then the two of them moved like dark ripples over the edge of the deck, their thick cloudy fur lit up by the overhead light. They moved quickly but noiselessly, in that digressive, indirect gait that raccoons have, a sort of purposeful but mystifying amble. They pattered up the mossy ledge and up into the trees, and after that they were lost in the darkness.
August, 2009. Maine
Last night, around midnight, our lights were out, but I wasn't asleep.
The night was very quiet, there was no wind. So when I heard something outside on the deck it was very distinct. It was some kind of movement, soft but large. Not an insect, banging against the screen, something else. It sounded like something brushing against the shingles. I sat up, listening, and when I heard it again I got up and moved quietly across the room. I leaned down into the open window that overlooked the deck and switched on the outside light.
On the deck were two raccoons, one large, one small, both of them staring at me through their dark masks, like two robbers caught at the teller's window at the bank.
The mother was on her hind legs, her front paws neatly crooked in front of her, like a housewife's over her midriff. Her dark fur was full and bushy, standing out around her like a luxuriant halo. Her belly was pale, and her face and ears and paws were very dark. She stood up as tall as she could get, watching me. She craned her neck, moving her head very slightly from side to side. She gave a quiet, open-mouthed hiss: "Hahh." It was a small, precise sound. It was meant in defense, but it was not frightening. It seemed more like the chanting of a spell, like some kind of rune or wild magic. Standing upright, the mother looked like a strange, small, beautiful person, with her delicate curled hands, her elegant masked face, her graceful shifting movement.
The cub had slid sideways, moving underneath the bench on the outer edge of the deck. From there he peered out at me, his round innocent eyes shining in the light. The mother stood still, weaving slightly from side to side, like a Javanese dancer. We stared at each other and then she gave another quiet "Hahh," another small piece of raccoon magic. Then she dropped onto all fours and rumbled over to the bench, where she slid underneath it, next to the cub. Then the two of them moved like dark ripples over the edge of the deck, their thick cloudy fur lit up by the overhead light. They moved quickly but noiselessly, in that digressive, indirect gait that raccoons have, a sort of purposeful but mystifying amble. They pattered up the mossy ledge and up into the trees, and after that they were lost in the darkness.
August, 2009. Maine
Labels: Raccoon
posted by Roxana Robinsonat
1:53 PM 
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