A fluffy patch of lush, dark green grass grew up around Giant Racoon's body. For a long time you could see the tire marks on the asphalt and follow them into the median. Torn up earth stopped where his life ended. He's all flat now and his fur is white. I don't know why his fur would do that.
It was a beautiful day so I put a shovel in the trunk and drove south down Bluff. After I thanked him for his lower jaw bone, I buried him and scattered wild flower seeds over the spot, just like when Big Owl got caught in the power lines in the backyard, and when the idiot neighbor shot the Dignified Hawk. The Crow That Broke His Neck trying to fly through our front storm door is sleeping in the herb garden now. No flowers for him, but lots of nice smells when a breeze passes over. His skull reminds me of the kachinas on the big reservation, how the upper and lower mandibles would clap together as they danced in swoops and hops. It seems very comical in an Edward Gorey sort of way next to Dignified Hawk's skull. I didn't take a gift from Big Owl, just buried him where he fell as soon as the smoke stopped rising from his body. It's bad luck if you see them during the day, and even though it happened at night I didn't want any part of him. It was hard enough just to touch him, knowing his spirit was swirling around me filled with anger. His flowers never grew right year after year. So I put tiger lilies over him in spiteful irony. They're thriving.
1:13 a.m. - 2006-03-13
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