Fox with Fallen Eggs 2013

Two things helped shaped me as a child:  riding my horse, bareback and alone, in the rural ranch land around my home outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico and the nature programs on the Public TV Station, PBS.  The shows portrayed a democratic world where nothing was either all good or all bad (except man).  Yes, the lioness killed the newborn baby gazelle, but she had (adorable) cubs to feed.  The programs seemed always to be about the struggle of the animals to survive, be it weather or predators or loss of  environment. An episdoe in which drought causes the rivers to dry allowing the crocodiles to attack and devour antelope with the speed of light as they nervously creep down the dry bank to drink is burned into my brain.  One minute you're just about to stick your nose in the dirty brown water for a needed drink, the next you're being pulled under the water, trapped in the jaws of a prehistoric monster. There is no easy street in nature.

When I would go out on my long solo rides, I would look for evidence of what I'd learned from those nature programs.  The country I rode in was mostly ranch land, so I would see cattle, but not much wildlife.  But still, I was always on the lookout.  Circling birds meant something.  "Vultures" I would mutter, then urge my horse into a canter, searching for whatever was beneath the floating figures. Usually it was just crows flying around, but every once and awhile I would find something dead, most often a cow.  I had hopes of finding much more exciting carrion, but it was alright when I didn't.  I loved  being in a world where mysterious and unknown things were happening, and to be a part of that world all I had to do was pay attention.