The Fear of Monkeys - The Best E-Zine on the Web for Politically Conscious WritingThe Indri - Issue Forty-Seven
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Vervet Monkey  from Christiano Artuso The Indri is one of the largest lemurs and is native to the lowland and montane forests along the eastern coast of Madagascar, from the Réserve Spéciale d'Anjanaharibe-Sud in the north to the Mangoro River in the south. Herbivorous, they feed mainly on young, tender leaves, but will also eat seeds, fruits, and flowers. Their large greenish eyes and black face are framed by round, fuzzy ears. Their silky fur is mostly black with white patches along the limbs, neck, crown, and lower back. Different populations of the species show wide variations in color, with some northern populations consisting of mostly or entirely black individuals. Their face is bare with pale black skin, and it is sometimes fringed with white fur and they have only a rudimentary tail. They are about 64-72 cm tall and weigh between 6 and 9.5 kg. They maintain an upright posture when climbing or clinging and practice long-term monogamy, seeking a new partner only after the death of a mate. They live in small groups consisting of the mated male and female and their maturing offspring. Like many other species of lemur, indri live in a female dominant society. The dominant female often will displace males to lower branches and poorer feeding grounds, and is typically the one to lead the group during travel. Many groups move 300-700 m daily, with most distance travelled midsummer in search of fruit. They sleep in trees about 10-30 m above ground and typically sleep alone or in pairs. They reach sexual maturity between the ages of 7 and 9 and females bear offspring every two to three years, with a gestation period around 120-150 days. The mother is the primary caregiver, though the father assists, remaining with his mate and offspring, despite the infant clinging to their mother's belly until they are four or five months old, at which time they move onto her back. The indri begins to demonstrate independence at eight months. They are the only mammal other than humans so far discovered which can use rhythm. They make loud, distinctive songs, which can last from 45 seconds to more than 3 minutes. Song duration and structure varies among and even within groups, but most songs have a three-phase pattern. Usually, a roaring sequence lasting for several seconds will precede the more characteristic vocalizations. All members of the group except the very young participate in this roar, but the song proper is dominated by the adult pair. Different indri groups typically sing sequentially, responding to one another. As well as solidifying contacts between groups, the songs may communicate territorial defense and boundaries, environmental conditions, reproductive potential of the group members, and warning signals. Countless variations are given on the legend of the indri's origins, but they all treat them as sacred animals who are not to be harmed. Despite the origin myths and traditional taboos (fady), however, in practice where western influence is felt and economic times are tough, they are hunted and their habitat destroyed due to slash and burn agriculture, fuelwood gathering, and logging. They are a critically endangered species. While population estimates are uncertain (1000 to 10000 individuals), the population appears to be rapidly shrinking and may diminish by 80% over the next three generations.

   


the birds sing...Jesus loves us....life is good

by

Jimmy Coleman

another night of sleepless sleep, the teacher, the plumber, the waiter, the accountant, the housewife, the unemployed seeking work eke out a living. The more imaginative of us who pretend to be living under the semblance of a democracy write letters to the editor--a smidgen ever published--cast votes for Tweedledee or Tweedledum, and, for a lack of work, a few of the least educated of us join the country's club of heroes, the military, to serve as cannon fodder for the needs and wants of the Empire.

the birds sing. Jesus loves us. life is good…

our greatest export to the world are the weapons of war, wrapped in our Constitution and an invoice, to be paid for by those populations whose poorest survive by eating the undigested oats from horse manure.

the birds sing. Jesus loves us. life is good…

our roads sink, our electrical grid rusts, our aged water pipes bring us fresh pollutants from our lakes and rivers, our jobs disappear, our children are educated at a level usually reserved for developing countries and our cities are riddled with crime. Hollywood's cesspool fills our homes with overflowing sludge. Our borders are overrun by millions who are also looking for a way to feed their families.

the birds sing. Jesus loves us. life is good…

a friend of yesteryear, a lawyer, and a deacon in his church, lives atop a mountain in the lovely Arkansas Ozarks. His wife is also a lawyer and a former beauty queen. Their kids are grown and grandkids and great-grandkids are as plentiful as butterflies in the land of peaches and cream. And like the Von Trapp family, the hills are alive with the sound of music. They give to charity and tithe to the church and now and then he comes off the mountaintop to be reminded how others live.

the birds sing. Jesus loves us. life is good…

when the mood strikes he writes in response to my emails, where I complain a lot, like I have been known to do, about life in general amongst the unwashed masses. He reminds me that all we need is true faith to make things better. He may be right. I know many, more miserable than I, whose youthful faith has not left them. I would no longer know for such faith left me when I was a young man, for it served me not so well as advertised. Now that I am older by a great deal, I replaced such traditional wisdom with a less certain dogma, leaving me partial to Jesus and less disposed to a goodly number of his followers. I suppose it's a test of sorts, from a God who also lives on a mountaintop. 'Remember', my friend reminds me, with words of encouragement

'the birds sing. Jesus loves us. life is good…'


Jimmy Coleman’s first appearance on our fair planet took place at some point during the last millennium. The earlier years of his sojourn among his fellow mortals were expended during the tumultuous times of separate water fountains, segregated schools and the KKK. It was also an exciting era where many of his generation did battle to help improve the situation as it was. A series of short stories and poems reflecting the give and take of bygone days are a major aim of Mr. Coleman’s writing herein and elsewhere. The first short story, “Mr. SOB” can be found at https://www.seattlestar.net/2022/05/mr-sob/ The poem, “the birds sing…Jesus loves us….life is good…” can be found at https://www.seattlestar.net/2022/02/the-birds-sing-jesus-loves-us-life-is-good/

 

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