Coyoteville

A week ago today, I was driving to work and saw movement to my right, in my peripheral vision. I was in Northeast Portland, the Alameda neighborhood to be exact -- beautiful homes, well-kept gardens, and white picket fences. You get the picture. So I glanced down the side street and saw what I thought was a dog dashing across someone's front lawn onto the sidewalk. But then I noticed the unique arch of the back and the smooth, prancing gait: it was a coyote. I just saw it for a second -- my car zoomed forward down the block -- but I was struck by the strangeness, the raw beauty, of the moment. I mean, I know Portland has coyotes roaming the city; they even make it onto the news sometimes. But to actually see one, and so unexpectedly, was quite a treat. I'd considered turning around, retracing my steps, so I could catch another look. But the oddly graceful creature had probably already disappeared from plain sight again. I also considered calling the authorities: what if the coyote went after someone's chicken coop or cat or dog? But I resisted these urges and made my way to work.

Moments like that really crack something open -- we get to see a sliver of other worlds, the way nature and suburbia collide, creating a collage. We can tend to our gardens, slap that extra coat of paint on our pickets, sweep our sidewalks and fix our porch lights and clean our roofs. But nature continually fights back and lets us know she's in it for the long haul. Weeds burst up through soil. Tree roots crack through sidewalks. Birds build nests in our gutters, and raccoons take shelter in our attics, and ants and mice scurry on our counters and in our cupboards. For those of you who know me, you're aware I'm always searching for meaning in everything, almost to a fault. But I couldn't help but take my role as witness as anything but a good omen, a blessing, something to shake up my routine and expectations. Seeing the coyote rattled me in the best of ways that morning, and that comforting feeling has stayed with me this past week.

Nature, after all, is reaching her pinnacle here in Portland; the amazing pink, yellow, white, red blossoms are taking over tree branches and crowding over streets and cascading down into soft beds on all the sidewalks. This is the time of year when I go on my long walks, and collect stray petals, and tuck them in my pockets.

Nature: she's a keeper.