Our coyotes don't wear bandanas. They're not cute. But I was very upset when I hit one with my car a while back. My rabbi had to explain it all to me, then I felt a tiny bit better but I still didn't want to be the instrument of its passing.
The coyotes in the hills are singing this evening. Maybe they're celebrating that it's a good 40 degrees warmer than last night. Last night was brutal cold. Everyone had problems. The man up the road had his fuel oil congeal.
There's no salt in the valley--the kind you put on ice so you don't break your neck or can get the car out of the drive.
Why am I saying any of this?
This is the texture of life. The details that tell the audience so much with so few words. Paint your stories with all the colors your palette offers, don't get hung up on the monochromatic world.
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