His name is Wild

Wild, Deep Wild, he approached me. Timid; Frightened; Afraid- oh so very afraid.  

Directly, he came, yet slowly so as to not bring fright to my Spirit. Came to me in my Funny Chair as I sat in the River Park.  My heart sad and hope-filled, both.  

He, with eyes of deepest night, black and guarded. Oh so guarded. 

I held my breath and stilled my spirit: he looked directly in my eyes and for one infinitesimally small and yet eternal Glimmer,  his eyes spoke. A Story was told.  His story.

Even if I could have leaped from my chair and ran away (or at least screeched to frighten him), as many would say to do when a wild coyote is within 7 inches, I could not.  I would not. In that instant, I would have guarded him with my Very Life.  All the Life still in my battle scarred body and pain-bathed spirit.

In that moment I was of His Tribe and He of mine.

And so, stilling even my breath, I looked into His eyes. And He returned the look. Our eyes holding fast, my spirit Listened.


His name was Wild. Deep Wild.   A knower of rejection, of confusion,  of sticks thrown at him by humans.  Of being chased away for being who he is. His only Crime to have been born into our modern world.  A world changed by us- not him.

His Spirit, so very battle scared, he lives in a cataclysm of worlds.  This little River Spot was his birthright of Millenia.  Maybe longer.

The spot was  Not Mine.   Never mine, and yet here I was.  Here we all are really, all of us humans who believe that our wishes and needs and dreams and desires are paramount- our giant buildings and smoking exhaust pipes, our racing cars and loud music. Our garbage strewn about. The city, large, grown all around his little River Spot. Encroaching.

All have forgotten, all but perhaps him- or maybe even him- that this spot belonged to the thousands of generations of Wild gone before him.  It was His, yet he was reduced to surrendering to human whims.  To swallowing his Deepest Hunger, to scavenging for food to sustain his needs. To timidly hiding in the shadows of the trees in the Valley.  Hiding in his very home.

But, that was not all his Story.  Because it is out of our deepest pain and struggles that Courage grows.  Spirit develops in the hardships- and who is more a Survivor than a Wild One in a little River Park in the midst of a Giant City? One reviled for his very Wildness.

And in that Glimmer, as our eyes met, our Spirits met too, To both of our surprise we had a great deal in common.

Then, he was gone.  Wild gone.  But not really gone.  Shadow- hidden.  He'll return when He is ready.  On his terms.  Because that is really what it is all about.

We can bustle through our lives. Build our glass office towers and ever giant homes.  Have park picnics, leaving his Space littered with our one-use coffee chain cups.  We can strew about our burger wrappers. littering the park.  But we can never ever change that this is his birthright home. That, rejected creature, he belongs.


 That he has a story. That he matters.

His name is Wild.  Deep Wild.


Please note: Photos in park taken by my husband Eric Hoff.  Eric had gone on a walk, and from a far distance saw this event taking place and quickly snapped some photos.  It happened in a very quick time span; by the time Eric reached me, within a minute or two, the coyote was gone. Also, I do not advocate approaching wild animals who can be potentially dangerous and also who for their/ our safety need to not become comfortable around humans. However, the coyote approached me and with my mobility issues it would not have been an option for me to run away even had I wanted to.  At no point did I feel I was in danger- he was much more afraid of me than I of him. Thanks for reading :).


Ps....many have told me they have been unable to leave a comment.  If you would like to contact me please email me at jenna.c.hoff@gmail.com or send me a Facebook message (jenna schentag hoff )