Crying in the Ravine

Something in the predawn brought to life coyotes in the ravine below my house.  A half-dozen or more of them erupted into a chorus of howls, yips, and cries.

The howling of the coyotes immediately drew me outside to the back deck.  I have not heard them like this in more than twenty years.  When I first moved out here to the country, I was surrounded by coyotes.  At night, they cried out whenever a low-flying plane overflew them.

I stood under a full canopy of stars trying to understand what the coyotes were saying.  The coyote song is ancient, but I still fail to fully comprehend it.

While the cries of so many coyotes in shrill refrain might frighten some people, I found myself in perfect calm.  I have no immediate beef with coyotes.  I listened to the chorus of cries until the coyotes, one by one, lapsed into silence.

This is where I live—a calm place between coyotes crying in the ravine below me and the unwavering gallery of stars above me.

—Mitchell Hegman