November 17 - The Sun Puts The Woof On The Coyotes

     Some years back I was in Santa Fe, by myself, for an extended period during late winter. On the day before a snowstorm was predicted, I hiked up the Audubon trail on the outskirts of the city. Surrounded by Ponderosa pines, I could see at least a hundred miles away across the high desert and the mountain ranges. It was so warm that my jacket was looped around my waist, but in the distance I could see a blizzard raging over the Jemez Mountains.
     From my perch, I watched the sun emerge and chase the storm northeast. Although it was dark where I was, in the distance the rivers and arroyos began to catch the sunlight. In the summer most of the high desert waterways are dry as bone, but this was the end of winter so they were rushing with the run off of melting snow. As the clouds receded and the arroyos caught the light, it looked like a cup of molten silver had been poured out by the benevolent mountain spirits to flow across the land. Pueblo silversmiths pour liquid silver in to jewelry molds carved from soft rock. On this day, the river beds and arroyos were nature's own sand cast mold—and the sky, her touch of turquoise.
     The sunlight advanced over the earth like a blessing. As the light approached Santa Fe, the coyotes on the outskirts of the city began to howl. Their song rose over the city like a wave. The dogs joined in too after they figured out that something was going on with the coyotes. It was four in the afternoon, but we had passed from deep winter shadows in to brilliant sunlight, and the coyotes greeted the day star as if it was the dawn.
     If you've ever hiked in the mountains, you will know that sound carries upwards. From my perch I saw this wave of sunlight pass over the land, and heard every coyote as clearly as if he was in my own backyard. Their many voices came together in one song, ecstatic and beautiful.
     As I keep my vigil in midwinter darkness, anticipating the Yuletide sunrise, I will keep this image in mind.