Thinking About Coyote

I’m sitting here thinking about Coyote. The little coyote in the field out back and Big Coyote, Old Man Coyote that I can never find when I go out looking for him but who comes to me whenever he wills. I don’t know why he sometimes comes to me, but he does and I’m glad. I think about Coyote. I guess I wish he would show up, but I know that’s no use, so I think about Coyote. I watch a nuthatch scamper head first down and around the maple tree and I think about Coyote. The evening starts to cool and the light gets soft and I wonder where little coyote will sleep tonight and I think about Coyote. I think about Coyote while the doves fly in the way they do, one at a time, land under the overhanging boughs of the white pine, wait a bit then waddle over to the seed scatter and group up for a little social time, form a covey and make low gentle noises to each other while sharing a meal and I think about Coyote. I’m still thinking about Coyote while the chipmunks come to the seed scatter, first one, then two, three, keep their distance from each other but get in close with the doves who accept their presence as other seed eaters, about the same size, no threat, even the same color tone in the fading light and I think about Coyote. I think about Coyote as the crescent moon starts to rise and there is the evening star so beautiful and I think about Coyote.

I think about Coyote.