In the wee hours of this morning long before light, my slumber was disturbed by the distant howling of coyotes. I lay in bed and tracked their approach with my ears as the volume of their cry became increasingly intense. Now wide awake, I left the comfort of my warm bed, stumbled to the back door, and exited out onto the deck. I stared into the black understory of the 7700 acre forest that borders my property as a sudden silence fell while I stood shirtless in the cool morning air wearing only a pair of shorts. The wooden planking of the deck beneath my bare feet reminded me that the frost of morning would soon be the norm. I gazed up momentarily to admire the stars above.
Silence broken, the long whailing howl of what at first I thought might be a solitary animal was soon followed by a series of staccato yips and barks of what I now knew was a pack. Their vocalizations let me know they were to the east in the shallow valley divided by the headwaters of the Mount Hope River. I listened to their cries in wonder. Had they been in pursuit of prey, did they make a kill, were these the sounds of order within the pack and the determination of which animal would eat first? But for their erie moans, the surrounding woodlands were silent. Was this nature’s lament for the animal on which the pack now feasted? My thoughts turned to my own wonder at the meaning of the sounds of these stalkers of the night. I could not help but ponder at the coyotes own wonder of the sounds that flowed from my whistle as I had played airs under moonlit skies and listened for the echo of my last note played as it bounced off of the surrounding hills. I can only hope that I brought them as much wonder and joy as they did for me on this fine morning. 
Cayden
