Some Mornings...

I was awakened after midnight by an unfamiliar sound.

A sound we don’t hear often in the desert.
We can go months without it.

Soft percussive rain against the window.
Blustering winds matched the flutter of my eyelids.

While the rain kept speaking, I drifted back to sleep.

Morning arrived, light pressing softly at the edges of the room.
I stretched long and wide as the rain slowed to a steady drip and the wind softened with the rising sun.

The first sips of warm coffee drifted across my tongue, settling into my belly like a small glowing hearth.

Coffee in hand, I stepped outside.

The creosote leaves, newly moistened, released their sharp green, lightly spiced scent, nature’s incense.

Looking up, I saw clouds the color of mineral gray, thick with moisture.
For a moment, I felt returned to Seaside, Oregon, walking beside the ocean under similar gray skies.

As memory pulled me toward ocean walks, a sound pierced the air.

A long, haunting howl. High tones. Low tones.

Then another.

Then several.

Their voices braided themselves through the hills and valleys until I saw three coyotes loping across our driveway. A blur of fur. No wasted movement. Silent.

They crossed easily between wild and paved. I watched them disappear into the wash.

February in the desert teases us with early spring. Just as we begin to mourn winter’s passing, it returns with raindrops and cool breath against warm skin.

Some mornings ask nothing of me.

Only that I notice.