Last night, in soft sleep with coyote dreams (fur pressed against me and coyote heartbeats lub-lubbing in unison with my own), a fog descended upon the woods. A rich, thick fog that made all things UNseeable. I woke up blind, yet again.
Coyote was gone. And my memory grave had been robbed.
Coyote dug up my memory and took off with it through the foggy woods, his nose guiding him. To where? I hear his yips in the distance, and I see a smattering of footprints around the memory grave and skittering off into the forest. But I can only see a few feet in front of me. This will be slow going.
I suppose I could just let Coyote keep this memory. In this way, I could truly lose it. But the paw-shaped imprint in my SELF is pulsing, and I'm afraid I may have made a mistake in trying to lose my memory. Also, the thought of that memory being in possession of someone else, even Coyote, causes me great discomfort. If I can't have my memory, NO ONE should have it.
And so I am now in pursuit of Coyote, and of my memory. Through this foggy, blinding woods, with nothing but paw prints and instinct to guide me. Please tell me if you run across a Coyote with a memory in his jaws.
If you hear yipping in the distance, that could be my memory out there in the dark.
Never close your eyes with a Coyote in your arms.