Coyote whelping

The outside dog, Tom, was coming unglued tonight with the racket from the coyotes. One or more had obviously whelped today and the party was on. What a display of "Where the Wild Things Are" it is to be standing out in the drizzle and fog while a half dozen coyotes sound like twenty five, very close by.

I've hiked and camped and spent lots of time as a kid romping around the bush, but moments like these require a more frequent engagement for me to catch well. It's like the fire flies that burst onto the scene like fairy dust on just the right night, or the deer kill when my ears pick up the sound of it a half mile away like it was right beside me. Or any of a thousand other threads that root me to the earth from which I'll rejoin.

I'm filled with thoughts of the beautiful tragedy of Mother Nature as I read my way through Brian Brett's Trauma Farm. Thanks Mum. It's like a warm fire on a cold winter night.

Blue pill or Red pill?

Red pill