“Only animals were not expelled from Paradise.” — Milan Kundera, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”
Once again, a malevolence has insinuated itself into the human experience, and once again, I turn to the natural world for solace and comfort.
There’s no question that violence and discord exist among the creatures that call the woods, the skies and the sea home. But unlike on the streets of some of our cities or inside schools or movie theaters, their conflicts are fueled by need and driven by instinct, not by hatred, anger, vengeance, insanity or a combination thereof. Confrontations between predator and prey rarely occur in the wild places on a mass scale and are usually swiftly resolved with little disruption of the general order.
Nature, as is her wont, adheres to her invariable custom of quickly disposing of the consequences and reinstating order. And when the act is complete, the displaced energy quickly regroups, and it is as if nothing happened. Large events such as floods, forest fires, urban sprawl and extreme weather events also take their toll on the landscape and its inhabitants, but once again, nature’s resilience and regenerative capacities come into play, and with time, all evidence of the conflict is disposed of or repurposed.
Not long ago, I came upon what was left of some type of animal near a small stream in Dayton. Not being versed in such things, I had no idea as to what type of creature it had been, who or what had caused its demise and how long its remains had been there. Had it died during an attempt to drink from the stream, or had it simply expired on its way there? I saw nothing to indicate what might have happened, nor do I have nearly enough knowledge or experience on which to accurately base any conjecture. I walked away in the knowledge that things like this happen in the woods all the time, and such events usually fall only within the scope of those who spend a lot of time in the woods. I felt privileged to get this close to what had once been a living thing and to what remained of a story I would never know.
I’ve come across this sort of thing a few times in my ramblings, and just the other day, my grandson showed me the remains of a crow he found recently. While animals do prey on each other according to their individual genetic programming, they also often succumb to disease, starvation and prolonged cold weather. Life for them is, in many ways, no easier than it is for us, and frequently just as random and unpredictable.
I remind myself often these days of just how insidious and pervasive violence has become in our society and of the subtle ways in which it often manifests itself. And more and more, I am realizing that life for all creatures, including us humans, means being eternally vigilant of all the disasters that may befall us and the dangers that lurk all around us.
When a song sparrow falls from the branch, the others go on singing. Not only is it their way of coping, of trying to make sense of the senseless, of persevering in the face of incredible odds, but it is also a gift to us of comfort, of closure and of hope.
— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Lyman, who enjoys exploring the woods of southern Maine, can be reached via email at rachell1950@yahoo.com.
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