Death’s on the air
every time Z and I go out for a stroll.
Not the whiff of a smushed roadcake lizard. No, it’s
something stronger, more fetid and assaulting to the ol’ olfactories.
Just down the road from our house, there’s a family of gophers
caught in a cave-in, the spoiled remnants of coyote feast, or worst yet–
the half eaten bunny-snack of the dreaded puma who lurks obscured nearby
purring delightedly in anticipation of our arrival across its path.
Who knows what danger or rotting corpse may be challenging our senses
around the next bend? Provoking us into awareness and action?
Zelda snorts joyously–the stench of death and excrement delight her.
She would bark if there were anything larger than a chihuahua in our path,
so all clear on the scary big kitties for now.
My nose appears to have nearly doubled in size overnight, but that’s okay
because none of my facebook friends bothered to comment on my update/concerns
and none of my real life peeps even noticed. (Maybe if I posted a picture?)
It’s not the size that bothers me so much as the pain and the not knowing–
What the heck happened to my nose? Why do I want to put an ice pack on it?
Could it be I have spent my life so worried that I will be mauled by a puma
in my own backyard that I have missed the deadly spider tickling my nose
as I lay sleeping?