Coyote at evening

Sunday, at twilight, as I was moving hoses to water critically dry plants in this summer of the endless drought,  the cry of coyotes came to me from deep in the woods. This is unusual and, at first, it occurred to me I might be hearing humans imitating the sounds of coyotes; that was deeply disturbing, setting off a train of thought I didn't want to pursue in the deepening darkness, while alone at my home in the middle of the woods.

Later, from safely within the house, I heard the cries again, and I was rather sure this was the real thing.

Three weeks ago, after a week in the city, I discovered a skeleton on the pathway at the back of the garden. It was clearly a dog like creature, with long fangs, probably a fox, judging from its size. In one week, it had died and been eaten clean, leaving only bone and bits of fur. I can only guess that it was shot, and found its way into my garden to die.

Apart from a slight fear of the unknown, I find comfort in knowing something of the life of a once wild land continues, to some extent, in this small corner of New Jersey. A fit setting for my 21st century garden, in a world teetering on the edge of chaos.

Garden ... a refuge or a battleground?