Coyote's Walk

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

And in the light
And in the beauty
My soul awakened
And I was healed

Laura Gannon

After Shawna’s death, Angele fled to the only place her soul knew to go: Coyote’s Walk, a hiking trail she and Shawna had walked together many times during their decades-long friendship.

Shawna had always been there for Angele, through her disastrous marriage and the subsequent divorce, through raising three children, and surviving the death of the youngest. Angele didn’t think she could face what life continued to throw at her without her best friend.

Dark thoughts paced Angele as she hiked the trail, deaf and blind to its beauty. She walked for hours, allowing the rhythm of her steps to slowly soothe the ache in her heart, her tears falling freely, coming in waves as she felt Shawna’s loss over and over again.

This isn’t what I want. Shawna’s voice, as clear as if she walked beside Angele, sounded in her mind. You didn’t die, and as long as you’re alive, so am I.  She had said as much as Angele had held her hand as the cancer ravaged her body, leaving her bedridden at the end.

“I can’t…” Angele started, but she knew this for the lie it was. Right now, she didn’t want to go on without her friend. But she could. She had a good life now, with friends and family, and a job she loved. Shawna would kick her ass if she were truly here.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she would say with an upraised eyebrow and that tilt to her head. The one that meant Angele was in for an earful if she kept indulging in self-pity.

She drew in a slow, deep breath, then exhaled just as slowly, looking up for the first time at the beauty surrounding her. She had come to the lake’s edge without realizing it. Trees, glorious in their fall colors danced in a cool breeze, sending leaves twirling in a moving impressionistic painting, as though Renoir himself had daubed their beauty against the blue sky.

Sitting on the rock she and Shawna had dubbed their hard-luck stone, she lost herself in the idyllic scene of which she had become a part. In this moment, she felt Shawna’s presence so deeply, she understood her friend would always be with her.

She sat until the sun had just crossed noon, then stood to begin her trek home, still grieving, but somehow healed at the same time. A male voice floated across the lake, singing a joyful tune in a beautiful tenor. Angele didn’t know the song, but her heart soared with its beauty, so apt on this crisp, fall day. She turned her feet toward home, knowing everything was going to be okay.

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This story grew from a discussion, an email, and a poem by Laura. I’ve included the final lines of the poem here with her permission. I still get chills every time I read them!

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