Nightshift
Dusk settles over the park as the hikers, bicyclists, and dog walkers retire to their homes for dinner and sleep. The caretaker and ranger close their gates before heading home for the night. Dandelion and chicory, wild petunia and spring beauties close up as Venus chases the last eerie fires of twilight into the depths of nightfall. The dayshift has ended for the diurnal creatures such as gray squirrels, and us. Nightshift begins…
Bats greet the dusk, like roosters greet the dawn. They bank, dip, dive, and careen, using echolocation to satiate their ravenous appetites, feeding on mosquitoes as well as hosts of midges and moths. The moths pollinate those peculiar flowers, night-lovers like honeysuckle and evening primrose, which become fragrant after sunset. Navigating partially by moonlight, the moths can sometimes become confused by the streetlights in the parking lots of West Point and Eno River State Park.
In the trash can under the streetlight, something rattles and the lid falls with a jarring “Bang!” A nearby whitetail deer snorts to alert his herd, ever ready to flee, which also silences the love songs of frogs. Further still, a gray fox perceives the sudden stillness and pauses to listen. Out of the trash can climbs a raccoon with a full belly. Her tail is missing from a long-ago fight with a dog. “Sure, I look rough,” she might say, “but you should see the dog!”
Under the ancient light of the slowly rolling stars she paces back to the creek to look for crayfish, not noticing the eyes watching her from the blackberry bushes. It’s a stray cat on his usual rounds through the park. He knows he’s no match for the battle-scarred raccoon and lets her pass. This cat is looking for rodents, as are many other predators. A little ways off a coyote has killed and quickly eaten a southern flying squirrel who was too old and arthritic to escape. Luckily for the cat, the coyote lopes off in the opposite direction.
The air is suddenly shattered by the cry of a large, dark-eyed barred owl near the creek, demanding, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?” From down river her mate replies with, “Madam, who cooks for you alllll?” like a coded message between spies. Satisfied that her mate is well she coughs up a pellet of fur and many small bones, and then glides away from her favorite perch on wings as silent as graveyard ghosts. She notices the male lighting bugs below, dancing and blinking seductively for their admiring gals hidden in the grass. They don’t concern her and she flies on.
Sniffing for grubs, a spotted skunk digs holes in the grass with long-nailed, dainty feet,. He doesn’t listen closely for predators. The animals on the nightshift know and see each other every night and have learned, or been told, what a well-aimed headstand from a spotted skunk can do. The coyote, when a pup, made the mistake of bothering this very skunk. She got sprayed and hasn’t bothered another skunk since. She knows her neighborhood and remembers.
The faintest hint of a glow creeps into the eastern sky and the temperature drops. The opossum meanders into its hollowed-out stump, still grinning about something funny he thought about during the night. As the glow creeps closer a mockingbird gives a few subtle chip-notes to mark the beginning of another dayshift. The raccoon stays up past her bed-time to listen to the dawn chorus of birds wash in from the east, and then climbs into her hole. Life continues…
The caretaker opens the park gate and soon a man shows up to walk his dog. He doesn’t see the moth wing on the ground. He misses the deer tracks, fox tracks, opossum tracks and steps right on owl pellets. He notices a coyote track and wonders whose dog got off leash, and if the owner and the dog were reunited. Morning dew settles on the skunk digs, and the shallow walls begin to slowly crumble. A gray squirrel gallops across the dewy grass leaving fresh tracks. It’s time for the dayshift; another night makes way for day.