There is a really big coyote hanging out in the otherwise empty pasture these days and if I didn’t know better I would say it could be a wolf he is that big. Once we watched him too long and he sat for a moment in the woods, wrapped his voluptuous tail around himself, and watched us watch him. When he thought it was long enough, he bounded out, running straight for us. Little dog, it seems, is competition. So we left him alone and now on our walks I am scanning, scanning looking for anything moving on the vast whiteness that is the ground here.
We may go a little crazy here this time of winter. You watch your booted feet slide back for every step you take and you wonder why, why can’t you just walk and go forward and is it too much to ask. Fish & Game tells us that bears are coming out of hibernation and are cranky and we can empathize. I saw our bear close up last Fall. Now it is pressing on March and at this time of year if I see her, I might have to invite her in for a beer and commiseration.
We are desperate enough for company other than ourselves that we pile into an old school building that is the community center to hear each other sing, play, and tell stories. Anything, please God, let me hear something other than the inside of my own head. I was excited to be there and pleased that so many people came.
So I read ten minutes’ worth of my novel to a crowd a bit noisy at first but before a second paragraph was up it was quiet and then it was silent but for my raised voice, reading. And even while I was reading I was aware of the silence, of the kind and generous attention I was given, and they were with me to the end. I held them. With my story. Wicked. I can’t wait to do it again.
© Margaret Grant and magoffleash, 2012-2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.