The yips of a coyote pair awaken me. There’s comfort in their cry. Nature has won a victory albeit temporary or permanent. Her voices speak in many languages. Listening would have been great along. Too many things get in the way. Cars, radios, TV’s ran out the gentle sounds to the wilderness. They have returned subdued.
An owl moves closer. Hoots become language. The Horned Owl repeats “Who cooks for you?” The great wings silently rearrange his perch. He calls out endlessly. He knows I’m here. We sense each other. He knows people bring mice, squirrels, and others dinner items. I’m lost in his world.
A sudden metallic chunk rattles my hiding spots. My perch is the dormer of a burnt out house. I overlook my real home. I’m afraid someone has discovered my metal, it’s what underneath I need to protect. Eyes crawl through the outline of chaos. Pickets of metal twist into part circus tent, part mountain range.
It’s a dog. A no good mangy mutt. One sound the damn thing will start barking. Everybody will think there’s stuff here. I’d rather have a person here. I could shot a person. One more body for the pile. But if I miss the damn thing, too much attention. Under a crescent moon,its just another scavenger.