Small Conceits

Musings. Stories. Poems. From where I stand.

A Walk in the Fading Sun

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On a walk in July…

Me: “I used to bring you and Sachi here to run sometimes.”

Coyote: <sniffing deeply at something in the grass> “Mmmhmm.”

Me: <continuing> “Well, I did, once I could trust you off-leash.” <pause, reminiscing> “It always amazed me how consistent you were, coming when I called, especially since in the beginning you spent so much time and energy trying to escape.”

Coyote: <pausing in her sniffing to glance up and ponder> “Well, I knew it was a bargain, and I had to keep my end of it. You’d let me off the leash, but only if I came back when you called. You made that pretty clear.”

Me: “Yeah, but Sachi wasn’t always that consistent.”

Coyote: “Sachi didn’t come from where I came from. She had a very different history. I was awed and touched by your generosity and trust.”

<I break down.>

Coyote: <looking up sharply from her sniffing> “What are you doing?” <I can’t answer.> “Oh no-no-no! No you don’t! Stop it. No crying. Not on a day like this. Look at how beautiful the sky is! Listen to the birds! Use that weak, generally useless nose of yours to sniff the breeze! NO. CRYING.”

Me: <finding my voice> “The weather is turning.”

Coyote: “It is.”

Me: “And you said you didn’t want to stay for the heat and humidity.”

Coyote: <exasperated now> “I don’t. But I’m not gone yet! And today is too beautiful to waste a single tear on it. Celebrate today, Mom. Just stay here with me, now.”

Me: <kneeling down to her level> “I just hate that you’re leaving us. I don’t know what we’ll do without you. You keep us grounded.”

Coyote: <her tone softening> “I told you: I’m not going anywhere. I’m just shedding this sick, old body. I’ll be right there with you and Bodhi until it’s time for the two of you to cross over. Then I’ll be there to guide you. Now, c’mon.”

Me: <trying to pull myself together> “I’ll miss how soft and thick your fur is. I’ll miss your velvety ears. I’ll miss the freckles on your pointy little nose.” <kissing her nose>

<Coyote leans in to kiss the tip of my nose, as she sometimes does, then suddenly stops and turns her head.>

Me: “What? No kiss?”

Coyote: “I’m SO not kissing that! It’s all drippy.”

Me: <tearing up again> “Dammit.”

Coyote: <huffing> “What now?”

Me: “I’m even going to miss the snark.”

Coyote: <returning to her sniffing> “Good. If you had any idea how long it took to perfect that… You might be a blubbering fool, but at least you appreciate art.”

Coyote walks in the field.

Author: Denise

I'm Denise. I believe that stories lurk in all the tiny moments that make up our everyday lives. They wait, curled into themselves, until someone finds them and jailbreaks them, leading them out into the light. And there's always a story.

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