Marina flew me to Palm Springs, where she was taking down her gallery show. Then I drove the van with her pieces back home to the Northwest. In between, we all spent a few days in the desert. I went camping over Thanksgiving in Joshua Tree National Park.
As you drive on the main road through Joshua Tree: Hey there’s a little coyote over there! Look! He slips through the rabbitbrush, the top of his back barely showing above the low bushes. He glances at you back across his shoulder.
Most tourists would never notice this. But we went back and forth through Joshua Tree a lot. And guess what. Every time, coming around that curve, and breasting that rise, there’s the little coyote. He slips through the rabbitbrush, the top of his back barely showing above the low bushes. Every time. He glances at you back across his shoulder. Every single time.
He’s got a racket going. He walks this circuit, shows himself to every car that comes by. A certain proportion of the tourists surely say: Hey! There’s a little coyote over there! And toss him a chicken leg, or something.