Refuge

At the park, while doing make-believe Minecraft battle with my son, a squirrel caught my eye. It skittered up the side of a tree, one of a clutch of evergreens whose trunks were turning golden as the sun went down. These trees in our neighborhood park are tall, skinny firs with needled canopies concentrated just above the level of the highest playground structure. This squirrel entered a hole right below the canopy, then turned around to face outward, peaceful and observant. I looked back several times and he was still there, watching the world from a high and safe vantage point.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to live day-to-day as a small critter in the middle of a human neighborhood, with its pets roaming around eager for a taste of wild blood, and cars that can smash the life out of anything with the merest effort from a driver. My best guess is that each day is occupied with pure survivalism: gathering and caching food, carrying bedding material back to the nest, listening, looking, and dodging. Then into a nighttime refuge, only as safe as the population of local predators will have it. (Do squirrels move along to the next tree if their nest is breached by an owl or raccoon?)

In my anthropocentric view, the squirrel I watched was basking in the same golden hour that we humans relish. It reminded me of camping, lying on the floor of a tent with a mesh roof that lets you see only trees and sky. You’re aware of the surrounding wilderness (or the pseudo-civilization of a built campground), because the tent is thin and permeable to breezes and the sounds of living things, but you’re enveloped in a kind of stillness. It is temporary, because sooner or later you need to get back out there and build a campfire, or forage, but that impermanence makes it all the sweeter. This is a haven that you have earned, even if only in a small way, by taking the time to find this spot in the woods and erect a shelter.

In the U.S., the things that have sheltered me all my life—steady job, comfortable home, abundant food, public services, education for my son, the sense of people as generally good and accepting—feel like they’re eroding. I have a privileged life, and it will probably stay that way, at least relatively speaking, but we’re all living in the same house that’s becoming more and more divided against itself. There is nothing to exempt me, or you, from the coming austerity and conflict. I no longer trust the powerful to adhere to the norms I’ve taken for granted for 42 years. Imperfect as they are, we’ve at least had stability. If my worst fears come true, then we’re all going to become feral in a way, scrambling to protect ourselves and keep our social webs intact.

I know I’m not the only one who’s afraid. My hope is that all caring, good people find their areas of refuge. Continue living, speaking up, paying attention, and fighting for what’s right, but also build a nest that you can return to at the end of the day. Make it a place where you can breathe and be suffused with light. I’m not certain about much, but I know that the light of truth and humanity will never be extinguished.