As I shifted from drive to park, I caught movement in my periphery.
I hesitated to open truck’s door.
And then, I saw a human head—two—three!
The coyotes were people!—my neighbor and his two kids.
I hopped out of truck to the sound of laughter.
They knew they’d surprised me.
“What are you guys up to?” I asked.
“Sledding down the ditch! Want to have a go?” he asked while extending his sled.
I did want to have a go, but I was dressed in thin pants and dress boots.
“Nah, not dressed for it. Another time? I wish I’d have thought of this when my kid was little!”
“We were sledding on our side of the street the night it snowed. It got too icy, so we asked if we could sled on this side.” He motioned toward our neighbor’s house. The ditch runs from the corner, along their side yard, past our bank of rural mailboxes, and ends at the driveway to my house. “This side is a little steeper—and longer.”
The sun had set hours ago. On my way home from yoga, I was looking forward to dinner, followed by a snuggle with Henrietta on the couch. Stopping to grab our mail, I received a surprise gift of connection.
“You guys know how to have fun!” I said.
“Gotta keep ‘em away from the computer and TV somehow,” said Dad.
“I appreciate your effort—I know what a challenge that is! Good night,” I said.
It’s like we’re on railroad tracks feeling vibrations, yet we don’t know how to move away from what’s thundering at us. I hear so many rumbles from people about phones, computers and televisions.
Can we be innocent bystanders in a world that we have our hands in creating?