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We have a pack of coyotes nearby.  We hear them in the summer when windows are up but a week ago it was very cold and they were very loud.

Coyotes make a high-pitched, yip-yip-yipping sound.  It’s wild and hilarious and mysterious, all at once.  The pack vocalizes as a group but this time there was one voice much louder and more ragged, that was closer than the others.

The pack warbles away for maybe a minute at the most.  This time, they faded off and the lone, close coyote carried on without them. 

Barkbarkbark, pause.  Barkbarkbark, pause.  Barkbarkbark, pause. This went on.  And on.  And on.

After five minutes I thought well, I’m not going to be able to sleep through this.  At seven minutes I was aggravated.  At about eight minutes I began to worry about neighbors with guns.   Then a random thought:  maybe he needs something.

I never knew what that might be, except afterwards I wondered if he was having trouble calming his mind.  I didn’t set out to do anything, I just zoomed in on his head and noticed his brain.  I didn’t “do” a thing.

The exact moment I made contact with the coyote he was silent.  I never heard from him again and the next thing I knew it was dawn.

Coincidence?  Beats me.










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