The Cull - Dec 7 2022

 

The Cull

Dec 7 2022

Even in this deep cold

icicles have formed,

glistening wetly

off the eaves and overhang.

Even with the low sun

   —  barely above the horizon

in the short window of light

this time of year  —

there's enough solar power

to melt snow.

The dogs

who like to be outside, no matter what

bask in it,

digging small nests in the drifts

and curling up

on the south side of the house.

I think of wild animals

enduring the cold and dark,

unremitting

all hours

day after day.

Deer

pawing down to frozen ground

for food,

stripping the low branches

for whatever's left.

Steam

rising from the big-bodied creatures,

dense plumes of breath.

Death comes in winter,

culling the young

and picking-off

the sickly elders.

The wolves, ribs showing,

when most of the time

the hunt fails.

The pack

sharing their warmth

through long and hungry nights.

And with its sharp nose and slender legs

a shivering fox

when mice are scarce.

The sun has set

the temperature dropped

and the dogs are at the door.

Food, warmth, companionship

await them inside.

Privileged animals

who have never known hardship

and will die well-loved.

And the hard lives

of all the others,

the dead bodies

we rarely see.

Exhausted deer,

vultured-up

by the coming of spring.

Prized entrails, eyes, and brain

the first to go.

Fallen birds

sinking into the snow,

small enough

to decompose on their own.

Or such tiny bodies

you'd never notice anyway.

And the badly injured wolf,

who, for the greater good

wanders off into the woods

to die alone.

The merciful death of cold.

And the toughened survivors

who are stronger for it.