It started with Fergie. Fergie is a groundhog that lives under the shed by my carport. I saw him/her in the yard and was fearful of him becoming another lifeless roadkill trophy. I decided, perhaps, if I provided food in the yard, by his home, he would not wander. Please, note, for the most part, that has worked.

Apparently, the opossum discovered the daytime peanuts and became a regular visitor. I discovered the opossum closing the bedroom curtains and, well, there was a opossum enjoying Fergie’s left overs. Looking out the curtains, before going to bed, became an amazing ritual.

From Fergie, the opossum, the raccoon joined. Then came a HUGE all white skunk. I mean HUGE. All white. Stunning. The racoon became racoons (mom, dad, and two unruly babies), the HUGE white skunk was mirrored by a teeny size white skunk and at least two regular black and white skunks. The last diners were two foxes who are so skinny they make me cry.

There are solo diners and a potpourri of diners. They used to arrive really late. It seems now, to avoid the rush, they are arriving earlier and earlier. They find their place and munch away in peace. Well, except for when the racoon babies get rambunctious, which caused the white skunk to head butt the child. Except for the foxes, if something startles them, much to Fergie’s chagrin, I’m sure, they dart under the shed- skunks on one side and racoons and opossum on the other. Their little heads pop out and if all is clear, they resume their dining.

I confess, the other night, I took my dog, Wally outside, and someone was walking down the street. For some reason they made me feel a bit uneasy and Wally and I scurried back in. I laughed to think of a herd of skunks running at an intruder, tails straight up in the air, as they screeched-“No outsiders buster! Back off or else!”

And, of course, the diners have gifted me another heart sigh sight- the double reflection of the moon right above where the dining area. Now, I say good night to the moons.

I’m not sure, why after so long, I chose to leave a little scrich. Even less sure, why the Whisper was to describe my diners. Perhaps it is the 100/112 temperature today that sucked the breath out of your lungs. Or maybe, the sight of all life struggling in the heat. [Note, I now have three bowls of water for my diners]. It could even be the angst of whether there is any sanity in the world right now. I don’t know. The Whisper said to leave a scrich about my diners. And, here it is. Maybe the Whisper is, when gentleness speaks, you answer.

I just checked. The teeny white skunk is having a loooong drink. Enjoy little one. Namaste to you and all the diners.