CAR AND COYOTE OR WAITING BY THE HONEY COLORED HILLSIDE

There was an old car down the way. It sat abandoned for decades, a ghost of its former self. The sides riddled with bullet holes. .22 calibre for the most part, but others. One man told a story about how it all came to be. I listened. Seems like he had the car for a 1965 something and it was in fact a 1964. Someone had driven it there and left it, though at the time it was in regular if not good condition. The owner of the farm found it, down, way down and practically hidden in the bush by a small stream. The farmer notified the police and somehow they traced the information from something in the car or the plates themselves. Its seems word came back that the guy was in Florida. I don’t know if it was a jail thing or not. The police, so the story went, - decided it was a case of ‘finder’s keepers,’ and let the old farmer have the car. Somehow he sold the good parts and left the body there. It still retains the color- a sort of gold. The original farmer and the owner are perhaps ghosts, spectres, - themselves. Maybe they met and had a laugh about it- compared notes. What did you get for that engine anyways? - asks the old owner. 

 

And so the path goes. There are things sprouting and buds being borne into infancy that shall

in the coming weeks reach adolescence and then more. What does a forest or field look like in mid-June? In mid-July? In mid-August? The coyote, lost, separated from its pack perhaps, - or its parents dead, and sibling too, - was actually not seen this day. Where was he? I could feel the presence of his absence. I waited by the honey colored hillside. I looked at the sky that was for the most part a continuous blue affair w. some dispersed clouds down the way. There was a breeze, but it would only dance around a bit unlike the days of the loqacious winds. I thought he might show up, atop the large summit, - right there, silhouetted in the late afternoon calm, - a feral but mysterious event. He is a trickster, a good omen, a mystery, a survivalist, a lost soul, a secret, a mythology unto himself, a living flesh phantom, a curiosity. He is a type of animal Essene, a playful gnostic sort. He is all these and more. Recently, he saw me, ran off, and I thought he was surely gone. I looked up and found him...about fifty feet away through some dense chaparral. He had only feigned running off. He was instead staring straight at me.  He is also I heard tell starving and turned around, - out too much in the daylight and the open. He didn’t show up. Or did he? Was he there watching us? I looked and was more still than the middle of Source. I watched the land w. the eyes and aura and spirit of a shaman- trying to see what is normally hidden.

But I could not discern where he was.

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