Enjoying the cool crisp October night under a sky of a million stars, the fire crackling, the smell of ash and pine fills the air, and in the distant corn fields a pack of coyotes hunts, the yelps of young pups sounds in another direction.
As the crickets quiet, we lean into listen, the pack grows closer, and in only what seems like seconds, the pack is upon us, howling and screaming, they run the pasture just the other side of darkness, with only their voices to mark their location. Our hearts race as if to join in to the racing pack, faster and faster, closer and closer, and then in a heartbeat they are gone. . .