Peter Crooke

Coyote visited me last night as I slept by the stream where I set my campsite under the wispy clouds shone by the grace of the moon.

I had heard the snapping
In the water
But thought some turtle had grabbed a tasty morsel,

Or a playful fish had flown

Into the air
Under the protection of the dark canopy, having waited all day
For just such an opportunity.

A friend told me later that he found the fresh tracks at the water’s edge.

When I sleep
Gifts cascade on me
In the manner of the creek itself, slow at times as it meanders through the almost imperceptible decline toward ocean,
But thrilling at times
Like rapids or a joyful waterfall that will rip into the depths, scattering everything
that has ever settled
At that bottom.

I am thankful that Coyote knows the best time
To bring a gift.