Tonight after church I took my dogs down to the creek about 3/4 of a mile below our house. (Public land, part of a wetland reclamation project, though in August in SW Oklahoma not very wet). As we entered the oaks, cottonwoods, and elms along the creek we heard the sadly-sweet song of cicadas; the tops of the cottonwoods applauded the southerly breeze although it was still at ground level; and the drought had caused some of the trees to begin dropping leaves creating a fall-smelling path through the woods. About 40 yards into the woods a squirrel crossed the path about 30 feet up, heading south. About two hundred yards in an owl flew up from a tree and headed north toward the creek (kind of early for it, but the sun was nearly setting). A bit farther in my dogs scared up an armadillo on the north side of the trail, leaving him to return to me when I called them. The oak leaf litter showed the unmistakable pattern of armadillo browsing on both sides of the path. A ways on down the trail I saw a mother raccoon leading three teenage-scrawny juveniles toward the creek. We've been so hot and dry lately that I suppose she could not wait till dark to go for water. The creek would be dry, as most are near here, except that it is backed up by a lake a couple of miles downsteam. Still, the level drops every day and more and more sand and mud is exposed. The dogs, noses to the earth, had not seen the raccoons so I called them to me and scratched their ears till the coons were safely across. Then, banging my walking stick on a couple of trees to alert mama coon, we proceeded on. In another 70 yards or so the dogs scared up another armadillo which quickly burrowed itself under a dead log. The rest of the walk was uneventful, except for the flies and the heat and the smells of late-summer woods and stagnant water.

Our culture encourages us to travel on wheels. Ride ATV's four-wheeling through the mud and streams and rocks of creation; exhilarate ourselves with motion and noise and mastery of terrain, lords of nature before whom all must flee in terror. Why not instead, enter creation (I am weaning myself away from saying nature, which sounds too distant from God) as a fellow creature, on foot. Watching and smelling and listening to all around us. Maybe that will save us from the mistaken belief that armadillos are born dead beside the interstate. Maybe living as a creature, on foot, can help restore us in ways that the internal-combustion engine cannot.