By Shawn Smith
How to say goodbye when we never had a chance to say hello? I don’t know, I don’t know, oh brother and sister, I don’t know. This question has occupied my heart and my mind over the past week since I found you, still, cold, gone from your physical bodies. Yours were lives taken in vain. I am heartbroken by your deaths. I am angry by how it happened. I am committed to doing everything I can to prevent it from happening again, though it will be difficult. Your size tells me you’ve been in the world longer than just a few weeks. I wonder if you overwintered here at SHO? And if you did, then you survived a long, cold, snowy winter. Which means you met your untimely passing while basking in the glorious warm sun of these early spring days. The dirt in which you coiled yourselves, perfectly positioned to feel the heat from the ground and the sky, must have seemed an inviting and safe space for you — of course it did, why wouldn’t it? What you did not understand is that for us humans that space served as a passage, our driveway. The driver of the vehicle, who it was — and I do not pretend to know — was going too fast. Too fast to save your lives. Too fast for coexistence with other wild kin. Too fast for the pace of life at SHO. From afar, your still bodies could easily be mistaken for a tree branch. But that it no excuse. Motorized vehicles are a danger to you and all wild kin - both on and off SHO. And so, in your honor and memory, my vow is to help other humans slow down, give pause to our wild kin, and cherish the privilege of peaceful coexistence. There is no need for us humans to move through life with the speed and distraction that we do. Only I know where your bodies are laid to rest, not that it matters any longer - but you’re safe to return to the Earth, tucked under leave debris under a tree. The sound of a babbling brook is nearby, and songbirds singing echoes from sunrise to sunset. I’m so very sorry. I wish you a happy and healthy next life. Until we meet again, much love.