How Coyote's Song Found the Night

Coyote's Song

How Coyote's Song Found the Night

It is said that long ago, when the mountains were but freshly shaped and the canyons still echoed with the newness of the world, there lived Old Man Coyote. Now, Coyote, he thought he had the finest voice in all the lands under the wide blue sky. From atop his favorite sun-baked rock, tall and proud against the horizon, he would lift his muzzle and sing.

But Creator had not given Coyote the gift of sweet song. His voice was raspy, a yipping and yowling that grated on the ears of the other Animal People. The Jackrabbit would flatten his long ears, the Lizard would scurry under a rock, and even the stoic Eagle circling high above would veer away when Coyote began his tunes. "Aiiee, Coyote!" they would grumble, "Your noise drives the peace from the day!"

All except one.

Roadrunner, swift and clever, with feathers like the speckled earth, she did not complain. When Coyote sang, she would stop her darting hunt for lizards and beetles. She would stand near his tall rock, head cocked, listening.

One day, Coyote, pausing his song, called down, "Sister Roadrunner, why do you stay? Do you not find my singing bothersome like the others?"

Roadrunner blinked her bright eyes. "No, Brother Coyote," she chirped. "Your songs are full of spirit! They speak of the wind and the dust and the wide-open land. I find them strong. I like them."

Coyote's heart swelled. Finally, someone understood his music! From that day, a strong friendship grew. Every day, as the sun climbed high, Coyote would perch on his rock and sing his heart out, his voice echoing, perhaps a little less grating now that he sang for someone. And Roadrunner would faithfully come, a small, quick shape against the vast land, listening patiently until his song was done.

Then, one day, the sun rose, Coyote climbed his rock, and he sang. But Roadrunner did not appear. He sang louder, his voice cracking with worry. Still, she did not come. He waited until the sun began to dip low, painting the sky in reds and oranges. She was not there.

Coyote scrambled down from his perch. He searched high among the rocky ledges and low through the thorny scrub. He called her name through the canyons and across the dry washes. "Sister Roadrunner! Where are you?" But only the echo answered. Roadrunner was gone, vanished like morning mist.

A great sadness fell upon Coyote. He missed his friend, the only one who heard the heart in his rough songs. He still traveled the land, day after day, climbing different rocks, different hills, always singing. But now, the sorrow choked his voice. His yips became mournful howls, his songs even more off-key, filled with the lonely ache of his spirit. The other animals complained even louder, but Coyote barely heard them, lost in his search and his sad music.

Many seasons passed. The sun baked the land, the rains came and went, the stars wheeled across the night sky. One evening, as the shadows grew long, Coyote sat slumped beneath a mesquite tree, his song a broken, quiet thing. Suddenly, a familiar quick shape darted nearby. It was Roadrunner!

Coyote leaped up, joy warring with hurt. "Sister Roadrunner! You returned! But where did you go? You left without a word! I searched everywhere. My songs had no one to hear them!"

Roadrunner dipped her head. "Forgive me, Brother Coyote. My path took me far away. Life changed for me, you see. I found a mate, and now I have little ones to care for, a family nested in a safe place beyond the horizon."

Coyote felt a pang of understanding, but also the sting of being left behind.

Roadrunner saw the look in his eyes. "I am sorry for the worry I caused, my friend. But listen," she said, her voice earnest. "Do not stop singing. Your voice is part of this land. But sing when the world is quiet. Sing at night, when the air is cool and crisp. The night air carries sounds far, farther than the heavy air of day. Sing loud and proud into the darkness."

She paused, looking up at the sliver of moon beginning to show. "Do this, Coyote. Sing your heart out to the stars. And know that far away, I will be listening. And whenever Isdzán łigai, the White Shell Woman, hangs the full Moon bright in the sky, sing your strongest songs then. Let the fullness of the Moon remind you that even across the distance, your friend remembers and listens."

Coyote looked at Roadrunner, then up at the vast night sky beginning to glitter with stars. He understood. His friend was not lost, just distant, and his songs could still reach her.

And so it is to this day, the People say. When the land is wrapped in darkness and silence, you will hear Old Man Coyote lift his voice. He sings to the night, his yips and howls carried on the cool air. But when the Moon hangs full and round, shining brightly on the sleeping world, his song becomes louder, stronger, filled with a special longing.

He is singing for Roadrunner, reminding her of their friendship, knowing that somewhere, far away, she is listening.