I’ve never met a Roadkill Collector, but I know these workers exist in this world. I know all too well, and yet not well enough. It’s a weekly, if not daily, event for me to drive the roads and pass the carcasses of racoons, possums, deer, squirrels, chipmunks, skunks, and cats, recently hit by traveling vehicles. But soon cleaned up.
I’ll never forget the day I discovered my cat on the road, dead, after being run over by a car. I picked up and carried our cat home for a personal burial. Then I cried for three days. It was unfortunate, awkward.
Death and accidents are part of the human condition and I thank the individuals who treat them with care and realism. Your work pushes my mind into curiosity and wonder.
Curiously, while treating death, birth happens. Birthing occurs in the trees, under bushes, and in places around the world. I may not see or feel the births especially when avoiding or dealing with death, but my interest eventually piques, and I wonder, is it life and death, or birth and death? While life goes on?
I sometimes want to smack the adage, life goes on, especially when daily circumstances stink, are boring, or irritating. But, as my husband points out, I’m too easily irritated and should cultivate more patience. Of course, his “pointing out,” irritates me, but after more than thirty-five years of hanging with the guy I see tads of progress in patience. Like last week after the high winds.
Well, high winds, is relative. When we lived in southeastern Washington state, winds came rolling over the Horse Heaven Hills at twenty to forty miles per hour, bringing tons of dirt, for three days. So, a day of fifteen to thirty miles per hour of winds here is a breeze. But I wake up and go outside to flipped over patio furniture, thank goodness the glass didn’t shatter, and a damaged chicken shelter.
Irritation bubbles inside me.
“Come on, Cheryl, I’ll get a rope and we’ll flip the chicken roof back into place,” said Mr. Patience.
“That won’t work,” I retort, like an unfortunate accident.
He says nothing and we mosey out to the chicken residence, which by the way is luxurious because I demanded a commodious insulated hen house with double-paned windows, secure locking doors, and an outside roofed shelter with fenced in acreage for free-range. It took weeks for my husband to construct.
Anyway, working together after the wind, it didn’t take long before we flipped the cover back into place for my husband to re-secure. He also put away the patio furniture while I tried patiently to wonder. I wondered about life and death.
I used to think life and death were counterparts. But I don’t anymore. I think, birth and death are counterparts, and neither have bearing on the life that goes on. The life of patience, care, and realism. So, I’ll be more patient when driving and take care to watch for passing animals.
Tagged: practice writing