Chance = Change

How to even begin to describe the sound of a pack of coyotes howling in the cool Arizona desert night?

Words fail me, but, as ever, I'll try...it's necessary that I do try, because it's been a while since a pure sound took me to such an "other" place inside myself, and emotionally, hearing those roaming animals speaking to each other last night, clarified , for me , the reason to write anything at all,  such a powerful experience needing to  be shared, no matter how feeble the attempt.

I was sound asleep at 3:00 A.M. when Peter shook me awake.  Ever since the fog horns of San Francisco came into my life, I've been eager for the sounds of the world around me. Peter knew i was longing to hear for myself the voices of the coyotes I've been told about, one of which I did see on a recent afternoon, laying under a tree on the golf course a hundred feet from our sunny patio.  I haven't heard a coyote howl for a long time, and the one and only time i did hear one was in the Hollywood hills: a single, low mournful sound, in the chill of a night I was spending at an LA' friend's house in those hills.  I loved it, and it seemed emblematic to me of where I was at the time, both geographically and  psychically: a romanticized, movie version of solitude and glamour. One coyote howling in the dark: that was me!  So i was sort of longing to hear that sound again, and yet, despite everyone else in this house hearing them, I kept sleeping through their nightly visits.

So I was glad that Peter shook me awake to hear what he was hearing. And at first, I thought he was wrong, that what I was hearing could not be coyotes, so strange were the sounds to my ear.  But then I realized it was different from my expectations because it was not one lone doggie, but rather a pack of them, on the hunt, and they were not talking to the moon...they were talking to each other! What an amazingly feeling, specific, urgent communication it seemed to be!  It was a private conversation, filled with tribal subtleties, game planning, strategy and purpose, and it felt like eavesdropping.  It was impossible not to, their whines and howls and whimperings filled the spacious air.
Suddenly there seemed to be nothing else in the world but coyotes, and all that kept us from being in their pack were the walls of the house we slept in.

The thing was, it all was much much higher pitched than I expected, and that pitch of their singing howls sounded practically human, it was so nuanced and tender. And it was continuous. Not just one long howl, but one long conversation, with more than one coyote singing at once, as if they all had something they needed to say, and they kept interrupting each other, talking over each other, trying to be heard, just like people do at conference table when emergencies are being discussed!  AND they were on the move, going forward, then circling back to re-sniff, re-inverstigate, search again for any scene that might take them to that tender rabbit they just crossed paths with, or that little squirrel that  had managed to elude them.  They were on a mission, and it was like listening to the garbled sound of soldiers on walkie-talkies, with the static of more yips, yelps, growls, included. I was utterly fixed, and could not stop listening even if I had wanted to. and then, suddenly, it all stopped at once, and there was utter silence.

Then, a solitary yelp, as if to say " Hey, guys, over here...come this way!". then more shared chatting, reactions perhaps to their scout's urging. And the coyote music began to be heard from another part of the golf course.  More high-pitched, atonal, chorus-ing, as their voices (were there four of them or twenty...i couldn't tell) blended in focused searching.  The richness of the audio experience is difficult to convey, because ,finally, it was not human: it was pure unadulterated animal  in every way.

I was glad that little Sally and Cyrano were snuggled warmly next to us in bed, under many covers, and protected by our arms, because I couldn't help but feel that the coyotes outside were smelling our little dogs inside, and that the odor of our dachshunds' pee-ing was one of the things that was contributing to the frenzy outside.  Little Sally would be short work for the pack I heard a few feet outside our walls, and i felt suddenly sad at the necessary savagery of survival.  Cyrano would put up quite a fight, but he too would soon have to succumb to the coyotes. So...as i said...i am deeply glad they were by our sides and safe.  I wish I could keep them - and all of us - that way forever and ever.

Alas.  Beauty and death. The plaintiveness of existence. And the impossible joy.

Labels: Arizona things