nature

Pumas are going to prey

/ Juliana Lightle / 1 Comment

Yesterday I opened the latest issue of “Sierra”to find an article about someone who encountered a puma.  Here is some advice on what to do if you discover a puma stalking you:

-do not run

-turn and face her

-raise your arms and do whatever you can to look fierce

-scream as loud as you can

-if you know you are in puma country, carry a loud horn with you

-do not walk quietly–surprising a puma is not good

-remember they are more afraid of you than you are of them–really!!

Of course, the big problem with making a lot of noise as you hike is this:  you won’t see any wildlife at all.

 

The photo is the copyright of E.J. Peiker.

Puma Passion

/ Juliana Lightle / 2 Comments

I am a daughter of the moon.

Night wild, free.

I run with puma;

I scream; I howl,

Moonstruck, blood borne.

My neighbor walked out her door to find a female puma lying in her lawn.  The puma arose and ambled away.   At night when I stop my vehicle to open my drive gate, I wonder if she lurks behind the juniper tree, pounce ready.  My daughter dreams puma dreams:  a puma chases her up a tree.  It does not matter that there are no trees here big enough to climb.  When I hike the canyon or stoll around the house, I search for puma tracks.  I find none.  A Zuni puma fetish crouches, guarding my sleep.  I would rather die by puma than in a car wreck.

Photo copyright of E.J. Peiker.

Writing on the Rim

/ Juliana Lightle / 11 Comments

The canyon edge looms out my bedroom windows,

pale adobe, stark.

Fall to death or serious injury!

I will not fall; I love living on the edge.

Rain brings a one hundred foot deluge,

a roar of water, cascading, screaming.

Someone said my house is pink; it is not pink!

It is the color of the canyon, the worldwide color,

Moroccan, pueblo, Saudi, Mali, Navaho, Timbuktu,

Desert, alive and lovely.

Three bucks watch me through my bedroom windows.

They see me move; they stare.

Isabella stands rigid, watching.

I kneel to her level; follow her eyes.

The bobcat casually climbs the canyon wall, impervious.

He marks the cedar tree, walks a deer path, disappears.

He is a secret, rarely seen.

The huge hoot owl’s voice echoes down the canyon,

drifting through my dreams.

A young road runner calls, scratchy,

running across the patio–on the edge.

In the spring the mocking bird sings all night,

“This is my territory.”

I sing all year, full of joy.

I live in beauty on the rim.

I decided to reblog this because it is the season for giving thanks, and I am eternally grateful for the privilege of living in such a beautiful place.  Yesterday, my family and I took a hike here, saw deer, lovely colorful rocks, bunnies, and native plants the names of which I do not know.  I live in beauty on the rim of wonder!!  I feel blessed!!