As I approached the mesa, snow turned to rain. I stood on the rippled sandstone, hearing nothing but the rain and the water flowing from pool to pool and eventually to the small wash below the sandstone.
As I turned to leave, Coyote Spirit rose from the mist, his bones scattered on the wet ground. He beckoned me closer and offered me a small vertebra, bits of flesh still clinging to the bone.
I whispered that I had nothing to give him and he said my presence was enough.
It's all right.