The leaves went crunch. Crunch. Crunch. It sounded like something big and heavy walking through the woods. But the late autumn woods are deceptive. What sounds like something huge walking ponderously along often turns out to be the cautious bound, pause, bound, pause of a squirrel.
I peered in to the woods, but saw nothing.
A red squirrel trilled near the sound of the footsteps. The trill is its way of saying, “My place! Stay out!” So perhaps it was another squirrel, but perhaps not. Red squirrels are bold, and seem to consider everything, big and small, a threat. There was once a red squirrel in our backyard who trilled at me every time I went out the back door.
What I didn’t hear was the persistent chip chip of the chipmunks that I often hear this time of year. The chip is a warning call, hurrying young chipmunks away from occupied territory. But no chipmunk could set up a home near that aggressive red squirrel.
The crunching stopped for a moment, then began again.
A blue jay scolded in a screeching jay-jay on the other side of the footsteps. Jay-jay, it scolded again. Jay-jay! Something was making it mad.
Was it me, or the thing in the woods? I could see nothing, but then I’ve watched a moose walk in to the woods at that very spot, and disappear from my view after taking a few steps.
I never solved this mystery. The sound of my daughter calling out the window to me ended my search for the footstep maker. But it was a nice reminder that even this sparse season has its own sounds, and its own stories to tell through them.
No comments:
Post a Comment