We set up the outdoors bed last night. The moon will be full in a couple of days. In its evening transit, it did drown out some of the stars and illuminated the surrounding desert.
Our intention is to observe the annual meteor showers, lying on our backs, cuddling together, enjoying naked sensuality and freedom. Lying here under the stars, in the more pristine desert, we have a sense of place in the universe. There is stark quiet.
I see one meteor, then another and another. DF misses them, somehow. I’m getting a familiar twinge of frustration and jealousy from my partner. This has happened often, when gazing for meteors. I’m commenting on falling stars in awe and amazement, and she is wondering, if I’m just putting her on. I see another, “Wow, did you see that one?”
Finally, she does see one with me. She is feeling better about things, excited for the next one.
She soon sees another. This time, I don’t see it. I smile and wonder if she’s putting ME on.
The meteors dissipate in frequency. A flashing plane creeps over and then a lone flash appears just as bright. We ask each other, “Could it have been a meteor coming right at us?”
Eventually, there is another burst of shooting stars, which is followed by a lull.
The main event won’t be for a couple of hours. We wonder if we will be awake for it. This moment is a good place. So, we’ll see.
I comment that the weather is perfect out here. I’m incredibly comfortable.
After a while, someone whispers,” Do you feel that cool breeze?” I do and it is a delight. Then, nearly immediately, we’re commenting together, as we find a warm breeze rolling over our bodies. No words are spoken, just that awareness of the person next to me feeling the fun of it, too. It’s a naked thing.
DF has curled up in a sheet. The cool air is sticking around.
After a while, I’m inside the warm bundle with her. I haven’t experienced uncomfortable, but she comments on how amazingly cold my leg is next to her. Inner temperatures, outer temperatures, bodily adjustments, senses of the situation, are all about being here and now in a body. Nothing more is required. The rest of the world is only about stars falling, trails of light across the sky.
She hears a noise, like someone walking in the desert. I lift my head to listen with both ears and hear nothing extraordinary.
Out of the stark quiet, we hear a loud barking and a scuffling, just to the north. This barking isn’t canine, but to me a more javalina sound. There is the sound of a clamping of teeth and with it is a shuffle of what are probably hooves.
The scuffle ends with a cry, as like a spanked baby. There is a persistent pain indicated. There is a sadness attached to the cry, something terrible has happened to someone. It is sad to hear. This cry repeats itself, over and over as we hear the sound moving northeast, not far away. We wonder and voice our concerns, but we’re helpless to assist and surely unwelcome to intervene. Something is happening within the tribe.
After a short while, a coyote howls far to the west, followed by its fellows yapping to the east maybe a quarter mile over the ridge.
I haven’t visited the local javalina neighbors who populate my Havarock spot in way over a month. It has been very hot, or we have been out of town often. Also, projects are making me busy. As I reflect, I consider a morning walk out there. We decide to head indoors, but leave the window open to gather the flow of the cool night air.
Sound travels into our sleeping quarters on the current. A lone coyote has arrived, and is communicating with the pack. It sounds as if it is outside the window. As I change the setting on the bamboo blinds, I know that it is less than one hundred feet away. I know where it is. What would it be like to be out on the bed now, surrounded. They must have heard the crying javalina from the distance.
Morning doesn’t produce a hike. I want to investigate, but DF doesn’t. She might not like what we find. I watch a vulture fly in circles out my window to the north. It comes into view over the hill, drops below it and then returns to view, over and over. There is nothing to be done, but satisfy the morbid portion of curiosity. I’ve often said that nudity enhances everything. This might not be one of those situations. Nature can be harsh.
In the afternoon, I’m ready to investigate. I realize that the stealth nature trail will be overgrown and disused. The monsoon has brought exceptional growth and formally sticks of plants are now feathered with bunches of leaves.
I won’t be wandering far from the course. This is rattlesnake season. I soon find many shadows under bushes where any animal can rest, wait and cool in the shade. I take care. There is a breeze out here. It cools my nudity, just enough to appreciate.
I notice the house to the west, the one that is being newly constructed and may steal some of the privacy. I wonder if that flat roof is intended to be a patio lookout. Perhaps it is time to pay the new neighbor a visit.
The route is often unrecognizable today. I’m familiar enough with the landmarks to find my way, even though I must pause frequently to observe. I look for footprints. There are some javalina prints, but no signs of struggle. Nude, my body knows exactly which way the wind is blowing. It comes away from the direction of where the javalina nest and Havarock. They won’t detect me, if I’m quiet. I step over and through a nearly impassable patch of prickly pears that used to be my trail. I step on rocks so my feet don’t make sound in the gritty sand. Each mistake seems louder to me than it may be.
I carefully come around, pass over the boulders and stop. There is no activity. There are signs of disturbed soil since the last rains, two days ago. On my rock of solitude, I see no signs of activity under it. They are gone. Perhaps the excitement of the previous evening prompted their departure. One javalina with a bad attitude has caused a great deal of ruckus in the neighborhood.
In a few days, I’ll post a Trip Report about our visit to beautiful Happy Valley and some waterfalls.