Coyotes

Seven straight days in the desert. Then we came back here, where people worship the big TV god. Sometimes I think it's better not to know. Because it hurts so damn much to come back. Here, people are so used to lying, their values twisted, they don't even realize when they're doing it anymore. Lying is just a way of life for them to get what they want. But they don't consider it lying because they meant it when they said it. Or, it's not that they lie, they just don't tell the truth.

Deceit is deceit, darling...

They're so used to compromising their ideals and dreams for their houses, their cars, their TVs, camcorders, every damn new modern convenience they don't even know they're doing it anymore...they don't know how empty they are. They call you friend but don't know the meaning of the word...one simple word...and there are so many other words they don't know meaning of either...love...forgiveness...caring...

And people think the desert is empty.

One morning, our last before heading back, I stirred in my sleeping bag and woke, and it was still dark. I pushed the tent flap aside, quietly, so as not to wake Sue, and Orion, the Hunter, my old friend, and trusted Sirius at his heel, were sitting above the horizon. It won't be long before they're high in our sky, proud and bold, but now they're creeping around just before dusk.

And then a coyote howled, and another and another. God-awful noise. Then, from the opposite direction, came more choruses, more coyotes.

People love to hear the coyote howl, but notice they never invite him into their lives.