Early mornings are dark and quiet in November. I put on my boots, coat, and hat to walk out with a bucket of kitchen scraps in hand. I pause to appreciate mist rising from the pond and autumn’s complex scents. Some mornings I chat quietly with birds and trees as I head back to the barn. Other mornings I sing.
This particular morning I’m wearing a heavier coat against the cold, a bright orange hat, and carrying a bigger pail than usual. As I walk I notice a muted squeaking sound. Immediately, I picture it coming from some small creature. I imagine its dark desperate eyes. Maybe it is trapped or injured.
I slow. Already the squeaks have become harder to hear.
I stop. The squeaks stop too.
Poor wary little thing, I must be close.
I walk slowly toward tall grasses lining the creek. A few distressed squeaks can be heard. I pause, hoping intuition might tell me where this little animal is hiding. There’s probably nothing I can do, but if it’s trapped I can free it. If it’s injured I might be able to move it to a place safer than the side of a flood-prone creek.
I stand still, listening.
Nothing.
Okay, I say to myself. It’s your imagination.
I head back toward the barn.
The squeaking starts up again, rhythmic and anguished.
Logic is late to this adventure, but it finally clicks in. I’m carrying a large bucket, one we left out on the cold porch overnight. The squeaking noise I hear is the frozen handle rubbing against the sides. I stop to confirm. The squeaking stops. I feel silly. I also feel, against all reason, enormously relieved for the imaginary creature that’s no longer in distress.
I take a deep breath and continue on toward the barn, ever more grateful for the peace of the day.
I hope your morning is less emotionally fraught.
Only imaginary animals were imperiled.
This post shared from our farm site, Bit of Earth Farm.
Laura Grace Weldon 
I had a similar experience recently with a rusty shutter that was speaking in the breeze one night. I convinced myself that is was a baby owl that had fallen from a tree. Glad to know my imagination is not alone.
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If it had been a baby owl, you would have been its hero!
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I remember taking early morning walks as a teenager which were very soul enriching and humbling, especially during rainy times. Your walks sounds lovely.
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It is deeply wise to take long walks, especially in stages of life fraught with change like the teen years. Soul-enriching indeed.
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I love this! Thank goodness for quiet, peaceful mornings, and for people like you!
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Thank you Katherine, and thank you for your recent post about trust, discernment, and the journey of the soul. It speaks to my journey as well.
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I love stories with happy endings!
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A vivid imagination is a wonderful treasure, but it can sometimes result in totally unjustified mental anguish of all kinds. I’m especially bad this way, imagining vast and terrible scenarios arising from a single thought or a few words. Good job I’m essentially an optimist!
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That’s my struggle too. I think they go together. I have become a deeply hopeful person in response and as part of overcoming mental anguish.
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I like to think that you spiritually healed and freed the animal that was squeaking in time with your bucket. 🙂 i loved this story. Debra
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Debra, I love this and choose to imagine the same. May all of our love and concern, sent out into the world, do some good.
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Aho!
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How lovely is this. Something similar has happened to me before and soon after I was relieved and I chuckled too.😉
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Maybe we’re in tune with invisible desperate creatures?
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You are a very talented writer Laura. Spell-binding too.
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You are very kind. I suspect I just have more awkward moments to write about than the usual grown-up….
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tee hee – glad you do it
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