On crossing paths with a coyote
In late November of 2004, I came upon a coyote while driving home in the dark one night. I could tell from a distance,as I watched him trot across my country road, that this was no mere dog. He had a substance to him that made me slow down and pull into the parking area of the South Blue Hill Community Center so that I could watch him. By now, he had reached the middle of the field, a distance of about 100 feet from my car, but not so far that he escaped my headlights. He turned his head to stare full on at me or at least into my headlights. His eyes lit up. His fur was full and fluffy around his face. He stood stock still and showed neither fear nor interest in who might be behind the spotlight he suddenly found himself in. He held his pose for a minute, maybe two--long enough for me to marvel at his beauty without really taking in what an extraordinary moment this was. And then, he was gone. Without a backward glance.
The image stayed with me for quite a while. Like all of my experiences in the Blue Hill environment, it left me feeling grateful. Life on the coast of Maine is an existence of natural superabundance. Everywhere you look there is almost a surfeit of beauty. And so, like many of the gifts I receive on a daily basis from my natural world, I tucked this image away.
It surfaced in my thoughts a week or so ago as I was going through a personal situation in which everything that I had previously had absolute confidence in was suddenly called into question. The experience was shattering on many levels, and it got me to thinking about confidence and remembering the "supreme confidence, bordering on indifference" of this solitary coyote.
I seek to anthropomorphise the coyote in my poem, "Coyote Confidence." If he could speak, I muse, what advice would he offer me so that I could avoid leaving myself open to such heartache in the future? His answer is not entirely satisfactory for a person like myself, for whom romantic guises or the strategies of courtship seem foreign at best and dishonest at worst: Hold close and guard your heart.
The image stayed with me for quite a while. Like all of my experiences in the Blue Hill environment, it left me feeling grateful. Life on the coast of Maine is an existence of natural superabundance. Everywhere you look there is almost a surfeit of beauty. And so, like many of the gifts I receive on a daily basis from my natural world, I tucked this image away.
It surfaced in my thoughts a week or so ago as I was going through a personal situation in which everything that I had previously had absolute confidence in was suddenly called into question. The experience was shattering on many levels, and it got me to thinking about confidence and remembering the "supreme confidence, bordering on indifference" of this solitary coyote.
I seek to anthropomorphise the coyote in my poem, "Coyote Confidence." If he could speak, I muse, what advice would he offer me so that I could avoid leaving myself open to such heartache in the future? His answer is not entirely satisfactory for a person like myself, for whom romantic guises or the strategies of courtship seem foreign at best and dishonest at worst: Hold close and guard your heart.
posted by Judy at 6:38 PM
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