Before dawn, the yard is not mine, but theirs. A family of skunks wanders through, soft as dream smoke. The papa carries a tail so black it seems to swallow the night whole, a living shadow drifting across the grass. The mama follows, her plume white and luminous, a lantern acting as a beacon for the little ones. Between them, four kits tumble together, traveling not so much in a line as in a shifting, rolling knot. They are fluff and tiny legs, bright snouts sniffing the air, a handful of poofy tails bobbing like dandelions let loose.

They pause at the edge of the garden, and all at once, the kits scatter a little, then reform their fuzzy constellation, a star cluster reorganizing itself under watchful eyes. Papa noses the ground. Mama lingers at the fence. The kits wriggle in their living bundle, then sway forward again, unified by some invisible cord of scent and instinct.

It is still dark, but the air feels awake with their passing, as if they bring a hush of ceremony with them. The cameras watch from the bench, unseen, using night vision so as not to disturb their procession. The world belongs to them for a while, as the sky softens toward morning.

#backyardzoo #roanokeva #skunk