Out of
the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a vole that had wandered into the
roadway near the break line of woods just uphill from the Cheney Farm. The
morning was yet dark, and the movement was highlighted by the yellow
streetlight that shone downward onto the road. A tiny thing, maybe just smaller
than a field mouse, but it scurried with such a frenzy, first weaving outward
into Grove and then returning to the curbside. It was trapped here, not able to
negotiate the curb height, and so it resigned to frantic movement up the
roadside. I half expected an owl to swoop down for an easy catch.
We
don’t often see the voles, save for the presence of their winter tunnels that
form near the surface pack and curiously in the proximity of the feeder. Their
coat reminds me of the velvety brown of a domesticated rabbit, and I am curious
if it feels the same.
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