I Don't Usually Sit With People

 Coyote chose his moment to appear, rising from the ground at the same time the day-end shadows sank back into it. I was making enough noise that I was sure he knew I was there, but he gave no indication as he trotted along a path that would intersect with my own. I stopped behind a large Lemonadeberry, thinking he would continue along his path and I could jump out and surprise him. He never showed and, peaking around the shrub I saw no sign of him. One of his little games I thought, and then got back to riding. I continued along the trail, came out to the "channel road," turned down it, and... 

there he was. He sat at the side of the road looking upward where three hawks whirled and dove, their shrieks loud enough to put cracks the sky. I had noticed them as well, originally thinking them to be a single hawk being pestered by a pair of crows. The battle royale was intriguing so I pulled up next to Coyote to watch.

"The squabble of an old married couple." 

Three hawks, I knew he was right as soon as he said it. It took a moment to recognize it for the retreat it was, but soon enough one hawk dipped a wing and quickly sailed off toward the mountains. There, peaks were still orange with the day's afterglow. A second hawk broke off and flew to perch atop a nearby wood power pole. The third hawk continued to wheel across the near sky. I recognized his shrieks as proclamations of triumph, victory at driving off a rival. Eventually though, this one too settled onto a nearby pole. All was quiet again.

"I don't usually sit with people."

The statement came across a flat distance and I could take no meaning from it. Was it a simple truth? An accusation? Was it an invitation to leave? At that point I realized the silence had become a bit awkward. I took it to mean the latter and, lifting a leg over the saddle I said, well, I've got something to finish. Coyote gave his best toothy smile and gave a single head nod. I returned the nod, flipped him the bird, and pushed off. Twenty-nine yards further down the road I slowed and looked back; Coyote had gotten up and was lifting his own leg right where I had been standing. Bastard, I muttered. Always has to have the last word.