I tune in online to watch the summer solstice at Stonehenge. It’s cloudy at Wiltshire, England and there isn’t  much to see. The only sound is the wind. I watch for a while, remembering what it was like when Gerry and I stood on that ground in the cordoned off area looking at the stones,

Coyotes and the Tides

I’m listening to coyotes yip and yowl outside my bedroom window. Maya is agitated. She was this way all night, curled up close to me seeking a sense of safety that was proving elusive. The coyotes were probably nearby and it was windy—she has never liked the wind. And certainly not the coyotes. Whatever the