Today I am Writing: On Skunks

At 1:50 a.m., I awoke, in need of a drink.

I groped my way to the kitchen, returned to my bed, and fell to sleep.

At 2:36 a.m., I awoke, too hot.

I flipped over the side of the bed and turned on the fan, returning to a deep sleep almost immediately.

At 4:28 a.m., I awoke, DROWNING IN SKUNK JUICE.

In the fog of "why am I not sleeping?!", I eventually deduced that somewhere between the hours of 2:36 and 4:28 a.m., a skunk had an unfortunate altercation on my front yard, and I was called to suffer for it.

I have seen skunks waddling across my lawn before, upon returning home from an evening out. In these instances I have very quietly and quickly slipped into my house, and all is well. I have watched them from the window, thinking they're kind of cute, in all their ponderous ways.

After waking with a mouth full of one of those ways, however, I will tell you that I wish this particular skunk of my a.m. awakening had been a little bit MORE ponderous, when choosing to blast the neighborhood with his rays.

At around 4:48 a.m., having been fully awoken now by such a deadly pestilence wafting maniacally into every crevice of my bedroom, I (finally) rolled out of my bed to shut the window. I spent the next hour or so periodically searching with my hand in the dark for the bottle of lavender spray I keep nearby, until I finally just sprayed beneath the covers, burying myself away.

As I write, the scent of skunk lingers, whisking on the whispering breeze, reminding me poignantly of my nighttime encounter. But also on the breeze waft the sounds of birdsong and flower blossoms.

I remember Julian of Norwich:
Everything has being through the love of God.

Even the skunk.