by on August 29, 2023 :: 0 comments

His brother points arbitrarily
“The coyotes come down from the hills at night to hunt.”
“Cool! I’d love to see them.”
“If we’re lucky maybe we will.”
They are sitting on the back patio watching a fiery sunset
The wind a gale during the day has abated now to a thankful calm
The two brothers become quiet listening
Suddenly the silence is broken
An etherical call pierces through the night
It’s soon followed by a wild howling
The rising up of a primeval lament high into the sky
Spreading out across the land
Echoing among the dark shadows of a long-forgotten time
Off to the left is a motion
One two three dark shapes loping
Heading down the nearby dry wash
Stepping daintily among flood cast pebbles and rocks
They are a pack and they are hunting
One brother smiles to the other
They don’t have to speak
Instead they watch as the coyotes drift into the night
A blink of an eye and they are gone
Only furtive tracks of their nighttime passing remain
Ghostlike and serene
A fleeting vision of wild wonder.

editors note:

Wiley consumers, driven by no ad campaign. – mh clay

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