A Halo of Thorns 24- Microfiction in the Age of the Coronavirus

Nature is relentless, unapologetic, and unstoppable. She follows her own set of often brutal Darwinian rules. Fighting, fleeing, feeding, and f...

As we further consider the preceding statements, let's not get entangled in semantic and conceptual hots waters in regards to what does or does not constitute the natural world. The old tired dichotomy of natural and artificial is not and never was at play except in the symbolic artifacts of human thought. We are a product of the natural world, are we not? Our actions, behaviors, and creations are as natural as the early morning sun. Didn't Moby say, we're all made of stars?

As the virus has swept across the world, humans have retreated to smaller ranges. Confined to our homes and neighborhoods, we no longer frequent public areas or visit one another as much as we used to prior to the pandemic. Our habitability zone has narrowed. Now the rest of nature marches and fills the empty spaces. No apologies and no hard feelings. If you’re not fit to walk along your sidewalks, row a boat on your waterways, chill out at your parks, and sunbathe at your beaches, then step aside, little monkeys.

After a couple of months, human activity began to stir in the downtown streets, and I ventured out on some errand. I came across a humorous (and somewhat unsettling) sight. A pair of Canada geese sitting pretty in the middle of the sidewalk. The traffic was somewhat heavy that day, and even a few people were walking around. Yet this careless pair thought it perfectly okay to sit there and check out the downtown scene. Passersby moved around them and not a feather was ruffled. They just sat there and observed. Lord and Lady of the urban jungle.

Reports have come from all over the world about changes in wildlife behavior. In particular, animals are being seen in unusual places. The absence of humans it seems has emboldened these wild creatures who now reconquer lost territory. Use it or lose it, appears to be law of the land.

It makes sense that the rhythms of human activity have an impact on wildlife. Take where I live as an example, on a typical day, the crowds are teeming on the streets and leave little room for a pair of lordly geese to roam around or lounge in sidewalks. We also wreak havoc on the beaches and parks during late spring and summer. Our fireworks festivals flash and boom and echo across land and water. We are a loud and often obnoxious force of nature.

When the flocks of geese turn up during spring and summer, we manage to coexist by staying out of each others way. It is not unusual to see the geese walking among humans, but we always keep our distance. Yet this year has been different, or so it seems to me. I have noticed that geese seem to approach humans more closely, breaking away into little groups to mingle among us. Observe us. It's as if they're curious. Maybe they know that something is going on.

I wish I could say that seeing wildlife expand their range makes me glad. It does not. It awakens some primal Darwinian fear in me that makes me want to push back. Why should other creatures inhabit spaces at our expense? We stole it fair and square. Nature grows and expands and makes no apologies. If these geese think they're going to take over our streets, our parks, and our beaches, they got another thing coming.