“Howling at the Moon”

Coyote knew there would be water at the bottom of the arroyo. Coyote’s tongue was lolling about as he weaved his way between eternally thirsty dunes and bone dry alluvial fans. Just thinking about that water made him yelp in anticipation. None but his brothers knew of that tiny pool of water, the wet creosote scent in the air though faint, was impossible to ignore. It smelled like a single puffy cloud blocking the summer sun, it was like some elder thing was busy summoning dust devils from deep beneath the earth where it is damp and cool all the time. Coyote could hear others cry out signaling that they were on their way. It made the old coyote smile and howl louder than before. When he arrived, late at dusk, the water was like in his dreams, icy cold and reflecting a full moon.