October's full moon is the Hunter's Moon. Deer season has closed, but the coyotes, the beastie boys, are taking advantage of the bright night light. Almost six-thirty: the sun has not yet brought a tinge of color to the sky, but the fields and hills are clear in the moonlight and the boys have been yipping and yodeling for a couple of hours. They've moved a bit farther up the road and over the opposing hill now, but at four-thirty they were down in my woods and singing to beat the band. Beside me on the bed, Bessie's feet twitched and, in her sleep, joined the pack with little yips. Dogs never quite lose their atavistic connection with wolves and their coyote cousins.
Thinking ahead to the holiday baking, I spent the afternoon cracking walnuts - lots of walnuts - and I have half a grocery bag still unshelled. These nuts were a gift from my Fiddletown friend Tinka, and they are wonderful, full and meaty and not a worm in the bunch. Shelling nuts is a great way to while away an autumn afternoon; productive without hard work. Warm enough to leave the front door open, I could watch the turkeys scratch and gabble in the herb garden and a pair of young ground squirrels cavorting on the boulders across the driveway while I hammered and picked.
Nearly seven and the coyotes still sing, caught in the spell of the Hunter's Moon.
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