In the Abstract (No. 5)

"In the Abstract (No. 5)," 8x8in., mixed media on panel

I have a love-hate relationship with these fury fellers which borders on obsession.

My last run-in was a few weeks ago. I went for a jog in the hills, just after it had rained and the ground was covered in mud. I got lost, ran in circles, and returned just about to my starting point spent and dehydrated. I say just about because on the single dry trail connecting me back to my car and the water bottle inside of it, laid two large coyotes.

I flapped and yelled at them from a distance but they were in no hurry to go anywhere.  I threw a rock but that only seemed to anger them, the way their ears and tails went pointy. I waited, but so did they. I tried to stare them down, but their eyes were way freakier than mine.

In the end, I backed down and got off the trail. I cut through a football field of very prickly brush and cacti and shlomped through a foot deep of muck in my brand new, glowing white running shows.  Then, lost again, I climbed an embankment and cut over a massive military dam plastered in "no trespassing" signs.

Finally, a few miles later, I emerged covered in mud and thorns, with a tongue as a thick and dry as a fillet of salted cod, on a highway I'm pretty sure was banned to pedestrians.

The Road Runner passed with an anvil strapped to his back and I shouted, "Yeah, go get 'em."

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