Coyote, Mouse, Pneumonia
Greed. Recklessness. Arrogance.
We put our best efforts forward as we drive inland, ignoring the call of the sea and instead, bee-lining toward The City.(There is only one city now that we've moved away from our home province with 52 cities.)
Our car is weighty with boxes, bags, art and jewelry and clothing and various things to sell. We're on our way to a convention, where we will work for several days as vendors.
Wisdom. Folly. Misdirection.
We purchase last minute supplies. We eat. We drive into a loading dock. We are offered help and information packages. We are professionals. We feel out of place. There is no “in place.”
We set up, we sit, we stand. We talk. We sell. In an instant that is actually 10 hours, we are headed home.
The highway.
The relief.
There's a large, 110 km/hour highway on the way to the small, 80 km/hour highways that take us home. It is mildly busy. We are mildly distracted. A large, pale, almost-white fur-clad canine sprints in front of our car.
Then, it hesitates long enough for us all to examine each other.
Ryan turns the wheel, and we don't hit the coyote. It runs, somehow behind our car and in front of the car that follows. We do not see or sense any collision. The coyote is probably safe.
It is beautiful. A large, graceful survivor. Its image does not leave our minds for minutes, days, and weeks.
Coyotes are migrants to Atlantic Canada, too - just like us (though they began migrating back in the 1800's).
Its appearance is our first encounter with such a beast since we took our daily walks along the Humber River in West Toronto. It is the first coyote I have seen since I walked - pregnant - alongside its poor, mangy brethren as they yipped and howled from inside the modest corridor of woods between a footpath and an endless quagmire of backyards.
A coyote is a look in the mirror. A coyote is a marker of seven years passed. A coyote is a reminder not to take ourselves so seriously.
The coyote is probably safe.