Whiskered Intelligence

by John Brandi

From a canyon labyrinth comes a three-dimensional howl, a rhapsodic vocal blaze. Daybreak, and old Mr. Cool is heralding it in, his voice revved to greet the first quiver of light filling these cold December cliffs. His is a cacophonous laugh, a wheel of sound textures, electric circuitry of Shiva’s dance pulling matter from emptiness, recycling it through the universe, returning it to the ever-regenerative void. I rest my eyes in gin-clear air as the lone crooner goes backstage, then reappears, family in tow, trotting quick-rhyme choreograph of gone-crazy barks, operatic laughs, bubbled free verse. A scrambled time-signature, vacant pause, fresh rise of chortled wheeze — all for free in this grand ole mountain opry. With whiskered intelligence coyotes loop through ravines, eyes flashing. They bark, warm the soul, follow musical ridgelines with sovereign impulse, a soprano hop, a chiming wail. A down-home gospel choir belting it out in a Mississippi chapel rocks  me  out of my seat, but it’s old Mr. Cool  who  converts me.

                                    Daybreak —
coyote’s Charlie Parker
impromptu.

                                                                                    Río Chama, NM