31 December 2023 (the coyotes)

the coyotes fall silent meteor shower

Happy New Year! Thank you for your support of my haiku!

March 6: Fable

Trickster coyote

popping up roadside

to tell me...what? To slow down?

Posted with Blogsy

February 17: Tracks in the snow

Snowshoed up Beech Hill in Rockport this afternoon with my friend Brian and his dog Jack. The trail up hadn't seen human traffic since this most recent storm. But we observed tracks of many other creatures that had left their mark on the fresh snow: coyote, snowshoe hare, squirrel, mouse, the interweaving paths of a flock of turkeys.

I step over tracks
of many turkeys, each bird
leaving its own trail.

August 26: Coyotes

Last night was the perfect night for a party. One of my Land Trust's board members, Gray, and I threw one at Beech Nut, a historic sod-roofed stone hut atop Beech Hill in Rockport, in the middle of our 295-acre preserve there. The party hosts were the lucky winners of the Land Trust's Raffle this spring; first prize was this party. The clear blue sky and mild temps were perfect for a gathering like this. We could see across the bay all the way to the mountains of Acadia NP, and inland, the Camden Hills glowed as the sun set among them.

After sunset, as the pink in the sky deepened and spread, the guests headed down the hill, leaving the two of us to clean up in the growing dark. (The hut has no electricity.) At one point I was out on the verandah dumping ice when I heard a siren. I watched to see if the lights of the police car were visible below. Suddenly the wail of the siren seemed to multiply. It took me a second to realize that a pack of coyotes had joined their voices to the siren chorus. I called Gray outside to hear it. She was startled by how close they were and by how many there seemed to be. I could pick out puppy yips and full howls, probably a mixed family group. Such a stirring, chilling sound rising from the forest at the base of the hill. The coyotes had made their presence known.

I was reminded how once, in a mountain canyon of Arizona, a fighter jet flew low up the canyon in some kind of maneuver and set off all the coyotes that had heretofore been invisible around me. I was also reminded of a recent conversation at Bread Loaf, where I've often heard coyotes, about how eastern coyotes pack up more than western ones because they have more wolf genes. The person I was talking to brought up the relatively recent incident of a woman being attacked and killed by a coyote pack in Nova Scotia.

As we left the hill and drove off last night, we were stopped by a police car--one of 12, I was told later. The cop told us to keep our eyes open for a guy in shorts and a t-shirt. No, he wasn't armed or dangerous, just on the lam. Nonetheless, as we drove past the coyote-filled woods, I know I'd have felt safer with all those "song dogs" than with one human fugitive.

They can't resist singing along
with the sirens--
coyotes revealed.

Posted with Blogsy

March 28: Coyote Window

A woman I know who lives on Ducktrap Mountain in Lincolnville takes trip-wire photographs at night of the animals hanging out in her woods. She recently shared a photograph of a coyote that I liked and saved to my computer desktop.

Photo by Corelyn Senn

So on my desktop now is a thumbnail image of this photo (much smaller than above), a study in grey and black: tiny coyote amid the vertical lines of tree trunks with a backdrop of darkness--a miniature window into a strange nighttime forest wherein lurks a prowling coyote. And other beasts--bobcats, foxes, ten-point buck standing before you like something out of a dream. I might keep the image on my desktop if just for this slightly spooky little glimpse into a world that gave birth to Little Red Riding-hood and tales of Coyote the trickster. Though who knows what will happen with this wily creature pinned to my screen like an icon, what affect it might have on my work as I type away with those untamed eyes upon me. I've always been a little afraid of the dark, and knowing what's out there isn't always a comfort.  But sometimes what unsettles us is what's most inspiring.

Prowling coyote--
this night creature on my screen
from dream, fairy tale.