The Whale

Coyote and I meet Fox Girl at one of our favorite spots on the central Oregon coast, the Fireside Motel. We like the name. We think of those hours spent around campfires telling stories, nights in the deep forests of the Cascades, or in the sage with Coyote's cousins singing to the flaming stars, Fox Girl and I weaving words, and Coyote smirking with the joy that most of the stories are about him. He's even happy with the old time stories where he gets done in, knowing that he'll be back up and breathing in time to star in the next story.

Now we walk the coast trail, the forested slopes of Cape Perpetua stretching to the sky, the sun shining through clouds, making pools of sparkles over the waves, spotlighting worlds beyond the shores of this one. We walk past folks with binoculars focused on giant whales spouting mist into sunlight and diving into the depths of the ocean. The three of us can only imagine what might be down in that world -- a world so different than the one we saunter through -- and we walk past the whale watchers to the beach at the end of the trail.

A few yards short of the high tide mark, we discover the body of a baby killer whale, the white spot unmistakable, fins pointing seaward.

"Well," says Coyote. "He hasn't been here long, but long enough for Mister Seagull to peck out his eye for a tasty morsel."

"He's so small," says Fox Girl. "And perfect."

"Look," I say. "See the sunlight on the waves? That's the trail to the Land of the Dead, that ancient village beyond the sunset."

"For my cousins in the desert," says Coyote, "that same trail is along the Milky Way. It's a long journey, and maybe at next high tide, this little one will start on his way."

We three friends stand together. No one speaks but the waves. Across the ocean, the sun travels westward, lighting a path.

Back at the Fireside, Coyote switches on the TV and watches Star Trek reruns, Fox Girl curls up for a nap, and I stare at the narrow path of light left by the sun now beyond the horizon. I hesitate, then as the first stars blink on, I start to scribble the rough beginnings of a new story.