Possums in the Wind

A flying squirrel cannot ascend in midair. It only descends very slowly, and with enough trees around, it can splay out and soar as a thin-skinned X. A possum is a groud dweller, and when it climbs a tree, it only worries about up, down and around, because across is out of reach. If a possum builds a rocket launcher, the story changes. At first they are only concerned with the thrill of fast up, but soon they take an interest in trajectory and how best to land. Ask a vole the right question, and she'll tell you of possums found crippled, confused and far from home. Ask a mole the right question and he'll say things you can scarcely believe, for in the tactile dark of the underground the truths are more about feelings, and the close is known with inherent intimacy.

A possum from the northwest arrived and said that to fly well, eat plenty of leaves. Ten for every nut and nine for every seed. A possum from the southwest appeared and told of how to dream like the birds and live like a dream- fly by belief, believe by flight. A possum fron the northeast came with a stack of books and directions to find more. Read these, he said, and the airy words will teach you all that is known about flight. A possum from the southeast had a jolly belly, and he said that to fly with elegance, and especially to land with grace, the best way is to be light and to be light you must laugh. Laugh when your possum muscles tense. Laugh when you don't know where to land. Laugh when things are funny, and laugh when they are not.

I chat with the little creatures. I hum with bears and talk with jackals. I do my best to hear their words. They speak of seasons, long rhythms and short ones. Beats, harmonies, convergences. Once in a while, when they trust the ears around them, I hear tell of a few possums who soar in all directions including up- possums who no longer have use for a rocket launcher.