coyote and I

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Two days ago, a coyote (Canis latrans) trotted across Candora Avenue off Old Maryville Pike in front of my car, in broad daylight, mid-afternoon, within the city limits, three miles from downtown. Wow! Did I just write that? Twenty years of writing about nature and this is a first.

I stopped and just watched. What else could I do? But marvel at its beauty, its supple form. 

Warner Brothers' Wile E. Coyote

Wile E.? No. Wiley, well maybe, but I prefer skittish, shy, wary. And why shouldn't they be? We've been killing them for 200 years, yet still they thrive. So much so they've crossed the Mississippi River and moved into the East, exploiting a niche once occupied by wolves. 

"Oh, please stop," I muttered as it passed before me, wanting to savor the encounter. And it did, just before it disappeared into the bushes, it paused to look back. 

We were eye-to-eye, it and I. Oh, the wonder.

I wasn't alarmed, but feel fortunate to live in a city where coyotes feel free to trot across quiet streets in broad daylight. 

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