In the morning, before the sun, we listen to the coyotes. Joey cocks his ears to the wild howling of a language he’s never known.
Coyotes—
their pre-dawn yipping
stops us cold.
In the morning, before the sun, we listen to the coyotes. Joey cocks his ears to the wild howling of a language he’s never known.
Coyotes—
their pre-dawn yipping
stops us cold.
In the sweet, old days when I had Goldens I always knew by the sound of the low growl and the raised hackles that the coyote was passing by. I wonder what ancestral resonance runs thru a dog’s bones at the sound of a pack of coyotes in full yip?
I am always impressed by how you say so much with so little. You draw great pictures with few words.
Thank you, Mark.
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