Howl

Last night, while I was deep in a dream about a French artist who looked like Anthony Hopkins making huge plaster sculptures and helping Harry Dean Stanton restore a Soviet-era taxi, a coyote took position a few feet from the Rolling Steel Tent and let loose with the song of his/her people.

Talk about being yanked back to reality!

At least I think it was reality. I was mighty groggy. Too groggy to prop myself up to look out the window. Too groggy to grab my camera. All I could do was listen and marvel at nature paying me a visit.

I wonder now what would've happened if I had howled back. Or started reciting a little Allen Ginsberg.

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical, naked...