Last night was the kind of night in a tipi that you think of when you think about a night in a tipi. It was a crisp, early fall evening illuminated by a small fire I made myself, and a candle when the fire began to fade. The scene was narrated by my banjo, a visiting barred owl, my horse munching grass in the outdoors, and my dog rustling around in her little bed under my bed. A gorgeous and simple night with entertainment provided by my own hands and non-loneliness without electricity or extraneous bodies. Inside that still-slightly-damp tipi may have been the most tickled girl this side of the Rockies.
While I was sleeping, a screech owl sat atop my mess of poles while trilling and whinnying up there with delight for all it was worth. My own personal midnight showing.
Then the recurring gang of coyote hooligans showed up to howl, holler and raise a ruckus on the mountainside.
I would have happily traded them back for the owl…!
I’m becoming a Virginia hillchild. All on my own.
