The Furious Spinner

Have you seen the moon? Doesn't seem like a winter moon: pinched and cold. No, it seems like a fall moon, or even a summer moon. Succulent. Last night we went walking beneath its fortified milky light. I said I wasn't going home until I heard the coyotes howl. We walked the loop. Down from our house, past the school, down toward the river, passing by the courthouse, the bar, a bank, Bloomsbury, a closed antique store with its windows covered in brown paper announcing: coming soon. We walked in the middle of the street part of the time, in awe at the sky. What is that color? Violet? I felt as though I could reach up to the night sky and pluck a star from it and press it against my forehead.

We went down to the river and looked at the moonlight on the water, broken into pieces of light that rode the fractured waves like tiny illuminated surf boards. We kept walking until we were in town again. Past the restaurant whose name has changed so many time that I can't keep track. We crossed the road, went down into the darkness again as we headed for the fairgrounds and Rock Creek. I listened for coyotes. Watched for coyotes. Cars drove by. Someone had their radio up. Hip-hop. I glanced over. Red car, shiny wheels. Could have been Coyote. Didn't hear any howling.

We went onto the fairgrounds and to the bridge across Rock creek. Standing on the bridge we could see the rocks at the bottom of the creek, covered in cinnamon-colored dirt. Two lights shined up at us from the water, as if the light sources were coming from the bottom of the river. One light was yellow, the other white. Which was the moon? We kept walking, over the bridge, past the empty fair buildings. We tried to avoid walking on the goose shit that was everywhere. We danced under street lights that multiplied our shadows.

I listened for coyotes and heard a diesel pick-up truck, parked in the dark, near the lake. A secret rendezvous? I wanted to walk by the truck and scare the interlopers. Mario wasn't keen on the idea. "I'm not going home until I hear a coyote howl." Mario opened his mouth and howled. I laughed.

"Good enough," I said, and I took my coyote home.

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All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.