In my burrow, deep underground, I hear her siren song. She whispers my name until my bones ache, waking me from my diurnal slumber. I stir and try to drift back off, but fail. Oh, how sweet she sounds at this hour? Why can’t she just leave me alone for a few more minutes? Why does she conspire with my stomach to rouse me from this pleasant dream?
Yes, I’m a bit of a grouch once woken…but it doesn’t deter her. No, nothing I do matters to her. All she cares about is the journey to her lofty perch upon her celestial throne.
I stretch and my long furry limbs creak and moan in protest. I suppose they were enjoying the cozy slumber as well. A quick shake to fluff up my short hairs and I’m up for the day, oops, I mean night. Trotting up the tunnel a world of fresh scents hits me.
I take a moment to sniff… hmm…Bob’s been by today.
The air had just begun to cool from the recently retired sun and with daylight fading I could see our twilight mistress called many more than just me. But I couldn’t eat just yet. One more ritual would have to be fulfilled.
Trotting down the well-worn path, past the three tall saguaro cacti and between the ageless Joshua Trees I make my way to my destination. A focused journey, much like the one she takes – up, over and round-about.
Finally after a mile or two I reach my destination, a red sandstone cliff overlooking vast sand dunes. Only bare glimpses could be caught in the fading light but I knew that during the day the sand was golden, bright and vibrant.
Soft thuds sounded behind me coming closer. “Hi Bob.” I said without turning.
“Red Foot.” Bob replied and sat down next to me. This was a nightly ritual for us. Bob, or Hopping Bob as he was formally named, is a hare. His fur was ruddy brown color with brilliant white patches under his chin, along his chest and on his feet. It might seem strange to most that a fox, such as myself, and a hare would get along, much less be friends. But here we are - the best of friends.
I yawned and rolled my shoulders. Bob laughed and I shot him a perplexed look. He shrugged his narrow shoulders… “Sorry, I was looking at your sharps, thinking…my, what big teeth you have…”
I barked a laugh and smiled big to give him another show… “heh…all the better to eat you with!” I said and snapped my jaws shut for effect. He shivered and turned to watch the desert horizon.
He was right, we needed to watch. She was coming.
Moments pass while we wait patiently. Finally she made her ascent. Her silvery orb crest the inky black horizon and her luminous light flooded the valleys below us. No sooner did her light reach us that the old familiar electric pulses shot through our diminutive bodies. She called to us, to our bodies, demanding attention, demanding a change.
The transformation is never painful and feels more like a really deep stretch though I remember it how uncomfortable the first few times were. Muscles pulled as bones reformed themselves. Snapping and popping sounds fill the air. If I wasn’t so preoccupied with my own transformation I would have watched Bob. His change was always so remarkable. Fur would undulate and move with the shifting bones, sinking into the crevices under arms and legs and giving away to human flesh. Deep red-brown colored, sun kissed flesh.
Once complete, the change always left me shivering in the chilly night air. No matter how hot the day, desert nights leave little warmth behind. I didn’t hear him get up, but when a warm blanket found its way around my shoulders I knew it was too late to watch him. His change was always quicker than mine. I turned to see that he was already dressed; his long black hair shined in the moonlight and his dark eyes glint with shining humor. Shame, Bob was nice to look at in any form…especially naked.
He smiled as he watched the thought pass behind my eyes. “Want to grab something to eat? I think Grandmother Long Feathers will have something for us if we hurry.” He said with a laugh sliding off of his tongue.
“Black beans and corn?” I said with my stomach growling in response.
He responded with a smile and an outstretched hand. That Hopping Bob was always such a gentleman.
Music: 10 Years, Scream at the Walls
© 2011 R. Renée Vickers (All Rights Reserved)
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