I had my first coyote sighting this morning. At least I think/hope it was a coyote and not the wolf that was spotted less than 1 mile from here. I was able to capture a couple pictures, but it was so far away that it’s hard to discern which one it was. The grayish-brown coloring and black dorsal fur is more like a coyote, but wolves resemble German shepherds and have thicker fur… much like this one did. Strange to see it alone and in the daylight. Blow up the images – what do you think??
We were heading up the hill on our Morning Walk and I knew this animal sitting in the field in the distance was no deer. I pulled out my camera to take a picture and this animal took off running with amazing [and creepy – like a werewolf] speed, up and over the hill, and then circled back around to our walking trail. Wolf or coyote, these animals are capable of running 40mph. We proceeded with caution and ascended up the opposite side of the hill, giving our visitor time to disappear into the woods.
There is everything in his eyes.
Packs of wolves fleeing across the frozen waves,
Black shapes into the blacker woods
And he is there.
Once he was one of them.
Such muscles in his legs,
Such hinged jaws. A giant of a dog
Who barks at horses, sheep,
Mistaking them for the wolf he still is.
Today he lies on the rug,
Tail bandaged, a giant, a walking house
Brought down by fleas.
And yet there are meadows in his eyes,
Steep, sharp cliffs toward which the sheep
Drift like suicidal clouds,
And as he dreams,
His muscles twitch,
In nightmares it is always the same,
He sees the danger, cannot raise his head,
Cannot bark nor move.
When he opens his eyes,
He takes it all in, what has become of him,
His people, whom he loves,
Moving through such familiar rooms,
The small cat who dances by,
These things are his to keep.
Is he diminished?
He thinks not.
He says, I have known love,
They touch my fur with love.
I have not sold my soul
For a safe haven, a handful of bones.
And yet, in dreams,
He is running free
And his people stream behind him
Like flags, like wind-tossed rags
Who will catch up with him
When he gets where he is going,
When he once more
Knows what he has always known.