Last night, struggling again with bad insomnia, I lay in the dark and listened to coyotes keen and howl with piercing clarity, very close by. I was thankful that Sherod, that Mo, and Spot, Daisy and Buddy, all were tucked in, the chickens safe in the heavily fortified Ft Yolk, my father, his dogs, Mouse and Pia, also asleep, unaware of danger pressing in. The breeze through our open window was as sharp as the voices carried on a clear and cold night.
This morning, fog has blurred the edges between where night ended and day began.
Winter is taking hold.