August hangs in the air like the heavy breath of the forest, shrouded in the hush between Summer’s dalliance and the long sigh of Autumn. In the prescribed dance there is a mis-step, a tiny slip. Things are on edge. Not what they seem. There is a shifting of planetary weight. A hole in the Heavens, a cave to the Underworld. The waters are muddied and moths gather at the lamplight.
You will not likely see him as he skirts the boundaries between our world and the Otherworld, but in the heavy air Coyote lopes through the shadows and the meadows to the crossroads. There he waits, Mediator of Heaven and Earth, curious if you will pay him his dues and open your world to his unpredictable exchange.
What might happen then? Who knows? Neither Coyote nor the Heavens can know. When you walk the borderlands you must pay attention, your fingers warming beads of prayer, your eyes soft with the shapes of clouds, until you are called with longing to weave together the things in your life that have not yet known to love each other.
