There's something mystical up there, and it wants to hang out with me
So I'm tromping up the hill this morning - and it's beautiful, and the sun is shining and the birds are chirping, and everything is buzzing with the pretty morning and the perfect weather and the warmth of the November sun.
And then it starts to get quiet, just like it did before. And a cloud pulls over the sun. And I round a corner.
There's a coyote sitting there, right in the middle of the fire road. Facing me dead-on. Big, inscrutable yellow eyes locked to mine. She is so calm.
Part of me - the primal part - freaks out a bit; wants me to run. But she keeps my eyes with hers, and she's not going to hurt me. We stay there for a moment in the stillness. She bows her head to me, gets up, and walks away. I get the sense that she wants me to follow her, but I don't.
The quiet dissolves into chirps and wind and the crunch of my feet. The moment's over.
I'm out for another hour after that, and though I don't see her again I can feel her watching me.
What's going on up there, and why does it keep finding me like this?