had forgotten something important, 

 so we could get no farther. The 

 overdome was violet black that night 

 with a delicate all-over embroidery 

 of silver. For a long time I lay looking 

 at it, the straw slowly settling under 

 my weight, making a cosy nest, 

 amply protected from the crisp night 

 air. I was floating in the sweet 

 upper silence when a something set 

 it all athrill, a long drawn melodious 

 quavering weooooooo followed by a 

 few short, sharp shocks of sound, and 

 then a chorus of rolling quavers, 

 swelling and fading wwwooooo 

 woooowoo. 



It did not really wake me. I 

 knew it so well the evening song 

 of the coyotes. They were singing 

 the song of the hills, and feeling that 

 now indeed was I truly in the open, 

 my lodging at "The Inn of the 

 Silver Moon" lost reality and the 

 silver wrought bowl slipped farther 

 and farther away. 



