Skunk and Raven

I wrote this piece of prose today. I think that's what it is - not poetry. With this I give a nod to one of the best short pieces of fiction I ever read in our award-winning high school literary magazine, JAVA. The piece I liked was called "Fresh-Squashed Squirrel on New Fallen Snow." To you, Pat (?), the author.

Skunk and Raven

Skunk. Unmistakable.

It rousts a person from a deep slumber. Walking by a bedroom window, with a little pfft, phsst, ffiisffptsh,

off it toddles, and you begin dreaming of skunks.

You are smelling it while you sleep. You nearly taste the smell on your tongue, almost becoming intoxicated by it, needing to sniff it just a little bit more. Then it wakes you, the blooming smell of skunk overriding all the pleasantness of your bedroom.

So pungent, almost edible. A complexity of aroma, almost a flavor. I am reminded of the people who describe wines:

"Notes of moldy cheese blended with week-old b.o. Aerate, waft, and sniff again, open-mouthed; feel it expand up into your sinuses and there take residence."

Once, Pally spotted a skunk while we were in a rented house for a family vacation. He took all the children out and they chased it from a distance, fascinated. This young skunk had soft and pretty fur, bobbling and rolling as it loped along. Not terribly afraid of people - no need to be.

The kids had fun scaring themselves and each other, chasing it. The adults had fun chiding Pally for his risky behavior. "What if it had stopped and sprayed one of you?" they said.

Later, the little one appeared at my bedside, and woke me.

"Mommy, I can't sleep."

"Why, Honey? What's wrong?"

"I dreamed the stinky cat was chasing me!"

I comforted her. "There, there. The skunk doesn't want to get you!" We laughed about the 'stinky cat' story later.

That was a long time ago. I am driving today - and too late I see it - had I more time, I would have turned off all the vents and air conditioning in the car.

Instead, the smell will fill the car, permeating it. I will be tasting it for days, a companion in my vehicle.

What I am struck by today is that as I pass the road kill, a huge raven stands astride it, piercing and eating it with great relish.

I think this is the most intense, powerful, most awful skunk I have ever smelled. The reek of it nearly burns my eyes. It's an odor with many levels. Yet the raven is a machine -so absorbed, tearing and swallowing chunks with such gusto - I guess it really likes the way it tastes, consuming all that rude smell.

What I want to know is this: can the ravens and the vultures not smell it, or do they choose to wear the odor as a calling card, a carrion's personal badge of honor?

-SLG