In the Sonoma.Mountains, I find many bones left from feasts of coyote packs. A few nights prior, I had heard coyotes singing into the night. Coyotes howl when they make a kill, the bones are a stark confirmation ~ they do celebrate! A pack makes an amazing noise!
At 2AM the night before, I lay awake, listening to distant howls. Sometimes if coyotes come in close, I open my window and howl back. I imagine their surprised brown eyes staring back at me. The dry grass rustles as they bound away. Soon after they begin to sing.
Today I pack my bone treasures home to further dry in the hot summer sun. I’ve always collected nature’s gifts. These bones are cleaned in the sun’s hot rays, slowly drying and bleaching them. Many people seem to find it odd that I collect natural objects. I have no answer except to ask why they do not.
Bones of a once living being are metaphors that all is slowly evolving into something else. They’ve been sacred to Native Peoples for thousands of years. My uncle was a Native American born on one of the reservations in northern California. He told many stories to me as a young child. I was so young, I didn’t always understand what he was talking about.
We spent quiet time walking around his plants’ shed and checking his veggie starts. He had an enormous collection of arrowheads which he gave me over time. A precious gift… and perhaps somewhat premonitious given my childhood.
Sacral spine of a deer
“When a man moves away from nature, his heart becomes hard.” Native American proverb.