Can I Have Your Attention, Please

Death comes quickly in the middle of the night, signaled by the pained cry of a chicken caught in a possum’s mouth. No, this is not what I want to be writing about now; I’d rather write about the eggplant waiting to be picked, the brassica fields mowed and about to be plowed, the beans and the lettuce mix that we actually hoed, but death is what stands out on this rainy, moonless evening.
They climb the fence without difficulty, negotiate around logs and weeds and get to the unclosed, forgotten door and grab a chicken from the roosting pole in the middle of the night. They’re heartless and evil, and my mind won’t be changed about that because they have long snouts and spiny, scary teeth. And they represent more than anything else forgetfulness and neglect and even lethargy and those will be tolerated even less that the possums. An unweeded field lies unnoticed, increasing in mess so incrementally as to not be noticed. Ungerminating peas have no danger signal, just rows of nothingness that may sprout up tomorrow or the next day. Overlooked squash triple in size under broad flat leaves and when discovered cause laughter. Uncoppered tomatoes and un-b.t.ed cabbage provide no immediate signs of distress. An unclosed chicken coop door wakes you up in the night with the pitiful howl of a bird hanging on to life and quickly loosing its grasp in a tragic attack that I could have prevented with less than a minute of my time.