West Desert Journal

Okay, I had a wild hair to break out of my shell of conformity and write a few words here on Freedom. I’m talking True Freedom and how it feels. First comes courage and faith to think outside the box and to be different from all the others. Freedom is finding the courage to really let a woman know she is beautiful. Freedom is the wild horse that roams the great basin or is the man that decides to hitch-hike the lonesome highways of America. Freedom is to enter the quiet canyons of the Colorado Plateau and to experience solitude and seclusion.

I seek to be different and to emerge with a unique identity in a world of common imagery and unchanging static. My spirit is like a wild eagle and it cannot be bound by conformity, though I choose to conform. My shadow is a true rebel, but I have learned to bridal the Poncho Villa within. As I roam the great and vast distances of the American West and live the rural small town life - I have learned to experience true freedom on a daily basis. I thank the Creator for instilling in me such a strong and innate since of being. That is, because I am truly sovereign on a personal level and no one will ever tell me what to do! I choose what I choose and discard what is useless.

My affinity is for those that are striving to discover true freedom and who are trying to break away from the mold. There are lonesome hearts and there are dreamers; they are all naturally my friends.

True freedom and happiness comes from within. It all comes from my heart and now I am expressing it here the best way I can. This is just a sliver of my heart and there are infinite ways for me to go. Life is one big adventure to me and I am excited to see what lays around the next bend. With each major rapid I roar with anticipation and excitement.

A couple years ago I had an amazing experience not easily explained. In fact I was baffled at first and then totally overjoyed. It all started when I received a fix-it ticket from a highway cop about a month before for a dead tail-light on my Suzuki Samurai. I ended up replacing the whole tail light assembly and was able to find it used at the local junk yard. The problem arose when I neglected to get the ticket taken care of.

I left town for Spring Break that spring and was attending Dixie State College. When I returned I received a letter in the mail from the Hurricane City Justice Court informing me that I had failed to dismiss the citation and also failed to show up in court. In the letter they were threatening to suspend my license, increase my fine and issue a warrant for my arrest. The notice was dated March 9 and the day I received this letter was march 20th. The letter stated that I had to pay the fine within 10 days or these additional charges would apply. I became pretty distressed and called the Hurricane Justice court asap.

When they looked up my case number they said that the ticket had been dismissed and that Nathan Cowlishaw had come in showing proof that the tail light assembly was replaced. The fact is I never went in. They asked me if I had sent someone on my behalf and I told them I did not. The truth is I told no one about my ticket except two family members and they were living hundreds of miles away. During that phone call I had the lady on the other end reverify this information twice and was reassured that my ticket had was dismissed with proof. There were no clerical errors. The citation verification number they had matched the ticket I was holding in my hand. So I hung up the phone and called a few relatives about this.

After all that, I still wasn’t convinced! Being a little obsessive-compulsive I decided to call the court office about twenty minutes later. They located a woman by the name of Lisa. She was the original employee who had engaged in the transaction with the individual that was supposedly me. I spoke with Lisa and she verified that she had spoken to this individual and informed me that his name was indeed Nathan Cowlishaw. She reiterated that he had presented proof that my tail-light assembly had been replaced and they dismissed the ticket.

This is amazing! I don’t know who it was that showed up on my behalf? I don’t know who to thank? I never was at the Hurricane Justice Court to get the ticket dismissed. Lisa said that I must of been doing things right and should thank my lucky stars. To top all that, I was supposed to have a peace officer inspect my tail light and he was supposed to sign the ticket in order for it to be dismissed! Which I never did! That is what makes this a miracle.

I cannot even explain how this could happen logically? Miracles come out of the woodwork when you least expect them. That’s why you never stop believing and always remain hopeful even during those dark struggles in life. Never forget the beauty of this world or the blessings that you’ve been given. I want to thank somebody but don’t know who? I am being watched over and this was one of those unknown happenings.

Thank you Heavenly Father for this blessing of harmony. I am so grateful to be a part of the colorful landscape. Canyon Country runs in my blood. It is a part of my soul. When I become old, I want my carcass dumped in a flash flood gully where coyotes may discover my discarded flesh and laugh with joy. May they fill their empty bellies and be content. That is a powerful and pleasant thought.

All around is sand and plateau, the homeland of the Anasazi. Their presence is felt on the ancient wind. Their whispers whistle through pinion and juniper. A spectacular thunderhead trails across the landscape with a cloud shadow dumping rain on the thirsty landscape. The aroma of lightning and wet sage fills the air. Red Indian Paintbrush, Yellow Mustard and Prickly Pear flowers paint the pretty desolation. Welcome to the beauty of Mother Earth and a turquoise Father Sky.

My heart is filled with love for all of God’s creations - for the wailing wind that sings in desert pines. Listen to the old ways when the wasteland shimmers and conjures the past. Like a flickering movie the vision comes alive. My imagination evokes the dreams and they mix with hot summer daylight and rolling thunder. The sweltering sun bakes the land while the thunderhead is an escape from the ultraviolet furnace.

I sweat profusely in the intense dry as the dark rain heads towards my camp. The wind pushes the thunderhead swiftly. The junipers sing with the oncoming assault. Amazing! I’m taking cover in a red nylon tent that flaps and whips violently against the oncoming gusts. The thunderhead descends on my camp ground and strikes full throttle dropping golf-ball-sized rain drops that pound the earth without mercy. The dry beige colored dirt quickly turns dark and saturated rusty brown. A sudden flash of lightning strikes the ground followed by a deafening crack of thunder. As the ground trembles I feel the humbling power of nature.

I am resting by alcove deep in Canyonlands, dreaming of wasteland shadows and the ancient voices from the past. Thank goodness, I am far from town and listening to the sweet sound of crickets and mourning doves in a cottonwood. A dust devil sweeps the arid plain whipping tumble weeds. A dark black raven trails the light azure sky. The sandstone is baked enough to fry and scramble eggs. The desert is an enormous frying pan. The distant elevated plateau dances in a mirage.

I’m alone and surrounded in pure isolation. Sure do miss those monsoon thunderheads that appear in late July. The crazy wind crashes through Juniper and pinion making the sound of white water rapids. Descending into a narrow slot canyon, into purple shade, I feel the cold red sand rise up between my bare toes. And I must admit It’s very lonesome… but its okay!

Where are you my fellow comrades; desert rats, rock climbers, river runners, outlaws and rugged naturalists? Where are you my beautiful sandstone queen?

In town I feel like a stranger and so I go home to visit the hills. Them rolling mountains have always been my friends. They are always there waiting. My love for the wild is my inner peace. On deep summer nights the thunder rolls over canyon country and I hear the sound of rain when sleeping on these cold winter nights. Oh, how I miss summer’s warmth…

In a dream, the cottonwoods sway to and fro on a heavy wind. I look into the sky and see patches of cumulus cloud ships as they journey through turquoise blue. And all of this fills an empty void inside. Even in hard times, the beauty gets me by from day to day. It helps me to remember and acknowledge the Creator’s hand in all things.

Life is like a rugged dirt road. It has washboards, puddles, and deep ruts, but my happiness has always been in four wheel drive and I can go anywhere I please. So I don’t let sadness or loneliness creep upon me. There is too much at stake. There is too much to be thankful for.

It is a candled night
in dreams they sleep
vast distances lay between

the firelight dances in their minds

with each passing hour
the dream fades
then grows

an empty void fills
the interior walls
of yesteryear
even yesterday

a vision of pairs
walks carefully down
an imagined street

the soft candled
sky shows fiery hues

spiraling galaxies throw
colorful intensities

all the while
in the deepness of the soul
the heart rakes the
rugged densities of life

the feeling of absence
grows arduous in
dark moonless hours

when a beautiful song
cannot be sung
…i know a place
where no one ever goes…
that is how the song is sung
but silence reverberates

no careful peace is felt
on a moonless night
when stars ignite the heavens

and with the silence
comes no certainty

it is peace and quietness
that claims forested hills
in the isolated mansions of earth

the quietest of solitudes
are discovered

i hear the song in my mind
while sleeping as rip van winkle
under a wise cottonwood
of thick, rattling leaves

it all seems a dream
even the labors of life

when basking
in beauty and repose

in the candled night
i dream of the azure sky
beside a mountain stream
singing the same careful tune

it is in a far off place
somewhere
far away

inside the doorway of the traveling sky,
there is quiet peace in this world.

although there is a lonely wagon filled with ashes
it wonders past sea and mountain, and through the valleys.

when it gets dark and black.
without sight, does it wonder
and cannot find peace.

the children that knew, are crying,
while their parents lay in bed dying.
and so the only mother of them all
went to her autumn grave,
and soon the peaceful snow gathered.

the wagon wonders,
with it’s ashes.

In the dark it wonders.

but in dreams, the children are free
where burdens do not exist.
where suffering has no season.

sad world, sad people.
God has been abandoned,

in a hidden place,
the wagon of ashes has stopped,
far away beneath the treeless moon.
the stars are freezing in the bitter cold.

the children that knew are crying,
while their parents were dying,
in the realm of this sad, sad world.

I believe in the existence of aliens, bigfoot, and most other phenomena. I think it naive to say nothing is there, because we live in a universe where the possibilities are infinite. Just look at the stars on a clear night out in the middle of nowhere! We do not always understand what is happening in our world, but it should be our responsibility to observe nature. Those mysterious entities may be spiritual manifestations, warning us! The earth is teaming with life, but even the power of life is unknown. Can science even begin to tell us about the soul and meaning of life? Hell no!

For a long time now, I have ventured into the wild, avoiding the every day rut. When I enter a mega-store, I feel the artificiality of our pop-culture, the greed of our doing, and I see all this ugly consumerism trying to drown me in its depths. Is this a culture of greed? Yes. I will not conform. I will not accept the status quo. My enemies are those that destroy beauty.

I’ve listened to the silence of deep canyons, of isolated desert landscapes. The beauty keeps me alive and moving. The natural world seems to be telling us that a great and powerful change is on the way…

The physical warnings are the earth quakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, tornadoes, and record weather patterns. These are physical precursors. All over the world, things are not the same any more. It is undeniable. People are gathering who hear the mysteries. A growing chorus of them are trying to do something about it. When I was down on the Colorado River, they were talking about strange things going on in the canyon! They say there is more radiation in the Grand Canyon then ever before.

Perhaps more folks will see the mysteries of the unknown, as time draws further towards a close. I’m moving away from the consumerism and secularism, and from those that say there is no spiritual power in this world! That is how I’ve become personally sovereign. Even my personal relationship with the Creator has been a lonely one, but it is strong. My advice, follow the roots of truth, and listen to the unknown!

I have the wanderlust bug. There are so many places that I want visit. My dream is to move around the Southwest, and visit all those desert landscapes between Los Angeles and Santa Fe. I’ve admired those hitch-hikers that travel great American highways, like the famous, but deceased, Chris McCandless…

I have become somewhat a transient, myself. Not like those folks that spent so much personal time in isolation. I haven’t always been the best of friends and have fallen short of promises to keep, but I constantly need the human element. I depend on human acquaintances, friendships, and close family. I go to them for social replenishment, even nurturing, but often fail to return the favor. Without people in my life, I would be a dead man.

Instead of hitch-hiking, which I did a little in my teen years, I prefer to drive a camouflage-brown Samurai all over the West. This last summer, I spent a lot of time in Navajoland. I pick up every hitch-hiker out there on the rez, just to visit. Going places and meeting new people is always worth every mile. The summer before, I gave one of our stone customers a ride clear from Cedar City down to Tuba City. It was a good excuse to travel. He is one of our long-time customers, who had hitched a ride all the way up to our rock yard from off the rez. He needed sculpting Alabaster bad enough, and so I volunteered to drive him home. Later on, I went to an event in Flag, then headed up to camp near Lake Powell, in the hills north of Big Water. All the while, the suit and tie people continue to flourish and so do I! Not many people have the opportunity to wander all over tarnation, surely what this means is to experience true freedom instead of an illusion…

I made two very unique trips to Navajoland and Hopiland this summer. I drove on back roads around Big Mountain and Black Mesa. One major reason was to see the gaping wounds of Peabody Coal, one of the largest strip mining operations in the West. The first trip started in Chinle; I drove up through Keams Canyon, entering Hopi Territory. Just before dusk, I left the small village of Shungopovi and journeyed all night, careful not to rush. The stars were enormous in the heavens, there were deep ruts in a dirt road that leads to the coal fields. The wash-boards were nightmarish. Small communities, homes, and ranches were dispersed all over. Out there, folks seem to worry about outside travelers, reminding me of people back home… While checking the oil, three different individuals had stopped out of concern. One guy asks if I was lost and another wanted to know if my engine was having trouble.

After traversing some of those roads, I cannot imagine what it would be like to commute these routes on a daily or weekly basis; having to haul water or go to work, etc!? The nearest highway is 20-40 miles away. Approaching Peabody Coal Mine in the middle of the night with bright orange industrial lights was coming face to face with a monstrous and fiery industrial dragon that pierces wilderness at the very heart. It’s all found on top of a high plateau covered in Juniper, Pinion, and Cedar. Big Mountain and Black Mesa are at the heart of the Navajo Nation. It is an area considered sacred to Navajo people. On my second trip out there, it was mid day, and the landscape changed. It didn’t look as bad. The hills surrounding the mines were green with sage. Healthy monsoon clouds poke-a-dotted the sky. The air was fresh. It tasted and smelled good. Of course looks are deceiving, I’m aware of that!

Peace is in the canyon, in clouds passing over massive sandstone and limestone ledges. All is quiet, far from city noise. The deep waters of the Rio Colorado fill the inner gorge as ravens plane the blue sky, catching thermals of late winter air. Cloud and cliff shadows mix. In the next few hours, some private river runners will come around the bend and reach mile marker 187. We will shout hello to them and wave frantically. They’ll raise their oars and shout back, and then continue their fourteen day journey to the bottom of the canyon to Lake Mead. I love Listening to the river rapids and feel lucky in this subliminal moment. The canyon never grows old, or familiar. Being here every day has been one of my greatest blessings.

I know what hides from most human beings and its realm is the vast wilderness. Humans have been separating themselves from the experiences of their ancestors. Most of them no longer retain even a hint of their original life ways. We have all lost track of why we are on this planet, which is our mother. Now, we have become so entangled by our own culture of mass consumption. We have forgotten our responsibility to the earth, and our relationship with the rest of creation. We have been cutting off this connection for very long time now, for hundreds of years, which will lead to grave consequences in the end. We cannot conquer nature, we only can subdue it for a short time, but no matter what we try to conquer and destroy, we are only doing it to ourselves. It will lead our own demise. Maybe there will be a few that find solace in the next life, or a passage to escape this dreadful event. I’m not trying to just talk here, I feel this way deep down. This isn’t a a prediction; its common sense. We are developing massive weapons that are only meant to destroy, kill, and exterminate. They leave wounds that cannot be healed. We are digging into sacred mountains, into holy places, and putting our feet where they don’t belong. This type of abuse cannot go on forever.

It is peaceful to work in the Grand Canyon, to be cut-off from the rest of the world in a place where I don’t have to hear bad news, of people dying over in Iraq, of terrible storms and tempests, of disease and terrorism. In a way, I am escaping those problems. I am running away from them. Most of us feel pretty cut-off and insignificant in a world that billions of people inhabit. It is an enormous and infinite place, and I’m living in it for only a very short while.

The mountains, the desert, the vastness of the wilderness quenches this awful loneliness. For me, Life is too short and fragile to waste doing trivial things other then what I love. Maybe it is selfish to exist in a world where so much suffering and misery exists, when I choose to dwell in hills of eternal rest, where time has no meaning. I’m not necessarily ignoring the pain and suffering, I am trying to escape it. A lot of us are survivors, just waiting for some type of end to draw near. We wait, and enjoy life the best way we know how.

To me, the most important things in this world are life, land, family, and my relationship to creation. The Grand Canyon has given me so much beauty. There’s nothing more powerful then standing on the edge of a massive abyss of canyons and plateaus that seem to swallow up everything else. When it’s one human being standing on the edge of eternity, you start to listen to the rest of the universe. In this realm, there is no pain and suffering. Just intense peace and solitude.

There are things that cannot be explained, hiding in the deepest wilds. Go to those places and experience them as often as possible. The more you venture into the unknown, the more experiences you will have. You’ll start to understand what happened long ago. There was a time when life was much more simple, unsophisticated, and there wasn’t so much suffering. There are cultures that existed for thousands of years that withstood the test of time, that outlived western civilization, and such. Human beings are complex, but if we weren’t so confused, life would be easier for all of us.

So I try to untangle myself. I watch the humming bird, the road runner, and the rattle snake, and I realize their importance in the desert. These creatures also seem very happy. It’s worthwhile to see how they live and survive out there. Each animal in the Grand Canyon has its own way of surviving and finding peace in such a wasteland. Most of the year, water is nearly non existent. the Grand Canyon averages about eight inches of rainfall a year. Yet a large variety of plant and animal life has managed to thrive. This is what I call happiness. Each and every creature plays a part in this. There are many, many relationships between many organisms. One could learn a lot from just mimicking certain habits and survival patterns of these beings. It’s all in an area, where time doesn’t exist, where the sun is constantly shining in a quiet existence. It is a place where the wind howls and moans and continues to carve the painted wastelands and sandstone canyons of the Grand Canyon. It will still be there, long after the period of humans.

I am always reminding myself that fact is stranger then fiction, it gives me the ability to have faith in the unbelievable. It is not hard to feel the power of this world, but the truth isn’t always in reach. There is a strong force running through my veins to seek the unknown. I have the oppurtunity to experience the world, by the grace of God, and seek infinite truth. Life itself is a miracle and a mystery. The quote below is from a movie titled; Second Hand Lions. It carries a lot of weight in my book. Truth is always within reach if you’re willing to accept the things which cannot always be seen…

“Hub: Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good; that honor, courage, and virtue mean everything; that power and money, money and power mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and I want you to remember this, that love… true love never dies. You remember that, boy. You remember that. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in.”

A boy sat outside the village
looking at the grave yard at the mesa’s edge.
“What ever happened to the dead?” he pondered.
“Are they living some where else far away?”

Skeletons walking around after
the day turns to night
inspires the boy to dream of
the darkness and deepness of rivers.

“Are the dead living somewhere else?”
Out on the mesa edge he prays every morning.
He prays, waiting for the sun to come up;
to come over and talk to him.

Every night, he dreams of the
medicine that will make him dead.
He wants to go see the corpse house. Please come.
The sound is making him old.
His dream for the crimson light is fading.

“Poem inspired from a Hopi story.”

No person
will hinder me
from venturing
into shadow

creeping into the
deeper wild

where the
wind sings
ageless

further ‘n further
away from
my captors

…the wraiths
of civilization

No individual
will persuade me
from the call of
creation

forward,
into beauty
of earth and sky.

Deep cliff shadows engulf the canyon.
Softened sunlight fades.
Darkness comes quick.
After a windy evening storm
I push my feet in wet sand
and listen to storm-provoked waves
of Lake Powell crashing in the darkness

Bats chase moths around the kerosene lamp.
An owl hoots from Cottonwood skeletons.

I’m 50 miles from any town
trapped in Glen Canyon’s heart.
The only way out is a boat.
I feel the restless
waters of the Colorado River
wanting to burst.
The lake whispers!

The Jackelope is a rabbit species that inhabits the Western United States, and unlike any other type of rabbit, they grow antlers that are similar to a Mule Deer, or an Antelope. Evolutionary Theorists cannot explain as to how the Jackelope is able to produce antlers, or where this creature might have evolved. There is no evidence to explain how the Jackelope uses it’s antlers, or whether the animal is territorial or not.

Walking into the Sunshine Truck Stop the other day, I saw a Jackelope mounted to the wall. Even dead you don’t see very many representations of this animal. I peered into its dusty plastic eyes. His antlers were similar to that of a Mule Deer.

I would like to catch one of these elusive creatures. In all my time wandering the Desert Southwest, I have yet to see one in the wild. They are rarely spotted even more so then Mountain Lions. The US Government cannot prove their existence. Many skeptics will claim that they are a hoax or just a fable, but this is not true. My own grandfather killed one while he was gardening out at our ranch back in the 70’s. He put it in a plastic bag but the maggots got to it. So he wasn’t able to skin and mount it. This is what he told me.

Coyote, wild and brave, thank you for coming within throwing distance of my camp that night. I was thrilled by the yips and howls of your siblings. There was an E.T. moon above the junipers, on that plateau near the Grand Canyon. I wanted to leave camp and walk in your direction, just seeing how close I could get before getting spooked.

I thought I
heard the unseen,
while sleeping?

Nothing opened the door,
but it remained closed.
Yet, Nothing walked in
and I heard him
jingling his keys!
I also heard him
punching the code
into the key pad!
Again, no one came
through the door.
The door remained closed.

I see an ungodly shape on the wall.
The inanimate black shadow
watches me without eyes.

I was talking with my grandpa today, about hermits, those bearded men that still seem to haunt the mountains living in makeshift huts or sheep camps. He said I ought to take my camera and go photograph the few that I’ve come by and try to capture them in their routine. Of course I’m wandering if this would be considerate or respectful towards them?

I assume that these folks live in the hills because maybe they don’t want anything to do with civilization. These individuals truly live in the quiet places, yet, I don’t quite understand where they may be coming from? How do they survive emotionally with only themselves to entertain? I’ve been wanting to hunt of few of them down and get to know them. If they want the company?

To me, a hermit is a human that discovers happiness in isolation. Half of the time, I feel like a recluse. I tend to despise human company, out of frustration. Mostly, I crave the company of others. I would like to learn how to be at peace with myself as my thoughts are very stormy. I crave the sugars of society but I wouldn’t mind living on the fringe.

I don’t expect everybody to live in cabins, but I feel like a hermit. I’m waiting for a life changing event, for my dreams to grow. Yet, I’m not an earth-loving, tree-hugging, dope smoking stereotype. I’m an average, clean cut college student, and this is my journal. I won’t let the bigger world define my existence. I have my own innate power, to resist the common.

With the wind,
Aspen leaves clap
in cheerful crowds.

Yet, their yellow bodies
barely cling
against winter air.

The Aspens creak,
like rusty wooden doors,
wood screeching against wood.

With the wind,
the trees move in waves
as grass in meadows.

Leaves clap and fall
from white painted branches.
The forest sings like rivers.

In moonlight glare,
Cottonwoods sing in the wind.
I see silvery branches, glowing.

Camp sits between the beauties,
near the sandy creek
running chilly and cold.

The Cottonwoods tilt their trunks,
waving their arms-back and forth
beneath the moon.

Heaven is here.
Dancing Cottonwoods,
creak their wooden limbs.

The sun is rising.
The dog’s lying in the grass
listening to the crickets.

The roses are blooming
along with daffodils.
The wind swings them.

My orange cat’s purring on
The window sill.
Wind whistles through
the window screens.

The sky is lighting up,
burning with
warm glowing hues.

Just outta bed, I
open the wooden door
and sit on the porch.

Chimes sing.
The air is full of
fine sediments
blown in
from the desert.

Today, My brother, my cousin and I were coming back across a very remote area on the Arizona Strip on our way back from Toroweap, of the Grand Canyon. That is where we had been camping. You have to traverse 64 miles of Primitive dirt road to reach this part of the canyon, and we had some bad luck while heading home. My cousin took his truck because it offered 4-wheel drive, but his tire went flat because of a tear. We had some help from a stranger, and that was a lucky thing. We thanked him.

After an hour or more of driving, we came across some ranchers who were herding cattle down the road. They had a twelve-year-old boy that was following them (he was driving a truck and trailer with horses in the back!), and their sheepdog was following behind. As we were passing them, they were stopped and their sheepdog went under the truck, and maybe it was for shade? Anyways, as we were passing them the boy ran over his dog, killing it. It was terrible. We stopped and hollered them down, and the boy came out screaming for his dad with tears in his eyes. His mother had been sitting in the passenger seat. I’ve never seen anything so disheartening, and we were about 38 miles from the main highway.

All the way home, we couldn’t stop talking about what had happened. I can only imagine how this boy must be feeling? I wished I could’ve done more to help?

Stuff like this makes you realize how fragile and short life can be.

I pulled my car up to a post marker off the side of the highway,
and there hung a dead coyote. Its head was tied to the post with bailing wire

His face was covered in blood
and his glassy eyes were still open staring at the broken sky.
its tongue was hanging out and drizzling.

I feel anger and sorrow for this murdered creature.
I wanted to untie his body and bury his soul somewhere remote.
a secret place where he could rest.

The coyote, a friend, but they stuck him on display
wasting his life away. They cut his ears off at the base
for some sort of bounty for the local BLM.

I can’t stop seeing into those glassy eyes and into the shadows of the beast.
Hopelessly hanging there, fur whipping in the wind. I’m connected to its death.
cold blood moving. the breathing is brittle and short.

As I looked at you coyote I felt the sorrow of this world.
Those damned cowboy men with chewing tobacco, leaving beer can trails all over
are bloody murderers and thieves of this ancient land.

They mock the very soul of this beautiful wild.