Early Morning Walk 3

One of my readers suggested that the previous installment in this series read more like a story than a list of ideas. I suppose that is the way of related ideas—they may be several smaller concepts or one larger concept. It all depends upon how you look upon them.

In this installment, I ventured across a major street to visit a pleasant, quiet suburban neighborhood to see what we could imagine from it.

The choice wasn’t a random one. I’d heard the call of the coyotes, and I had to see what they wanted from me.

But first, I noticed that something unusual was happening on the outskirts of the neighborhood.

We are used to seeing strings of small, usually white lights. When I was young, they appeared only in places like Disneyland and were called pixie dust or fairy dust. Lately, they’ve been a much more common feature of exterior decoration in many neighborhoods. This was, however, the first example I’ve ever seen of fairy dust inside a house. Could it be that some fae tribe had set up camp in there?

And then there was the couch on the parkway. It’s not uncommon for people to leave out smaller items they think someone might be able to use. But how many people driving by are going to have a vehicle large enough to haul a couch away? Perhaps it was a trap set by faeries. Much like the chair in the Underworld in which Hades convinced Theseus to sit, perhaps the couch was magical, and anyone who sat upon it would be trapped there forever.

Will someone actually sit on a random couch? It is only a matter of time. But I decided not to test my theory about the couch’s nature, for I heard the coyotes calling again. Their pack lived near the top of the hills just to the east, and it was they I sought before the dawn made them hide themselves from the world—and perhaps from me as well.

It was not long before I began to suspect treachery of some kind.

I changed the brightness enough for you to see, but on a largely unlit street and in a distracted state, I came close to walking into a trap. It was carefully camouflaged as sidewalk work, but I knew better. I suspected the ghosts I might have offended when I rambled by the cemetery (which is but a short distance from here).

Breathing a sigh of relief after my narrow escape, I proceeded up the street more cautiously, but not too cautiously. The coyotes grew impatient. Their howls were much more demanding now. Invitation had morphed into summons.

The sky showed the first hints of dawn as I encountered an obstacle. The street ended near the base of the hill, meaning I would have to meander through side streets to find a way to the pack. The house on the hilltop appeared dark, but I felt eyes watching me from somewhere.

I walked some distance without finding a street running east and up. Through the underbrush and chain link, I could see clear evidence of another street to the east, but I could discern no clear path to it. Alas, my fence-climbing days were long over.

I managed to get a little higher, and I saw more clear signs of human habitation, but still no sign of a road to the summit, though road there must surely have been. After all, there were houses—or so it appeared. Could it be that these, like the sidewalk trap, were carefully disguised lures?

I checked for maps on my phone, but I couldn’t figure out where I was. Had I slipped into an a parallel universe? The streets were similar to, but not the same as, what the maps showed me. Also, some of the streets were unnamed, and their lines were much lighter, almost like dirt roads. Even if I could find street signs in the darkness, they would be useless to me.

The path forward was not clear. Each time I moved east and up, it encountered yet another obstruction. Perhaps some evil force has used the whole neighborhood as a trap for me, a shadowy labyrinth which I could enter easily enough but from which I could never escape.

I looked for a coyote or two to guide me. They hunt singly or in pairs. Surely, there was at least one headed home at this hour.

I looked—but I did not find. The streets were empty except for me—or so it appeared.

I thought about invoking Coyote’s assistance, for surely he knew the way. But I recalled that he was a trickster and gave up the idea. It could well be his fault that I became lost in the first place.

Yet the coyotes continue to call for me. Their tone had shifted from summons to command—the kind of command one dared not refuse. Moments later, they had shifted to a much gentler tone, though I wasn’t sure why.

“Come to us, for we have long awaited you. Come to us, and we will caress you with our claws. We will kiss you with our teeth. You will become part of our pact. Your blood will become our blood. Your flesh will become our flesh.”

Every instinct I had screamed at me to keep trying until I found a way. The invitation of the coyotes must not be rejected.

But they did not fool me with their metaphors. I knew now what their true intent was.

I knew, but I kept trying to move in their direction, anyway.

At last, I managed to break away and head west. I realize belatedly that whatever was blocking my attempts to reach the coyotes was more benevolent than I realized. Perhaps it was the suspected faeries to the west. Perhaps someone—or something—else that had intervened on my behalf.

As I continued west, I became more certain that I had broken the coyotes’ spell. My bones would not join those of others they had lured to their doom.

At least, not this time.

(There are actually coyotes in this neighborhood, but none showed up for this particular photo opp. These are from Peter K. Ziminski/Shutterstock)