A Waking Dream

DREAMSCAPE

EPISODE #1

            I walked out of the trees into the clearing. It was raining. When I say that it was raining, I mean it was raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock (sorry about the crude analogy). The view of the wide valley was obscured by angry, dark storm clouds and sheets of rain.  The only sound was the hissing of the falling rain.  I searched for signs of life.  Any movement at all.  A bird call, a frolicking rabbit, a shy deer. “Probably all hid up, out of the rain, if they have any sense at all.” I told myself.  Continuing on, I sloshed through the mud, slipping, sliding.  Sticky clay, sticking to my soles like taffy sticking to my teeth. The rain didn’t let up, it poured from the sky like a waterfall, streams of water, not individual drops.

            Finally, I came to a shallow cave, deep enough to be dry inside, just enough.  I unslung my rifle, for I was hunting, dropped my pack, and began to gather dry sticks from a pack rat’s nest in the rear corner, to build a fire.  Maybe I could dry out some and heat my lunch in the bargain.  I gathered the smallest twigs for the base, they were the first to catch the flame of a match. Then the medium size placed on top of this flammable pile.  Digging through my pack, I found the waterproof vial with the strike-anywhere matches. I removed one and scratched it quickly across a small rock laying near the pile of tinder.

            The match flared and I laid it in the pile of small twigs, hoping for the flame to catch and build into a heat intense enough to enflame the rest of the pile.  While the small flicker and crackle of the fire steadily grew, I gathered more twigs. The fire burned nicely with the wood stolen from the nest. I carefully peeled my wet outer clothes off and draped them on some longer sticks. Far enough from the fire so that if they fell they wouldn’t drop into the flames.

            I dug into my pack and pulled out a sack that had four slices of bread and some sliced Spam and onion. I found a flat stone and washed it in the rain water dripping from the front of the cave. I set it in the edge of the flames to dry and heat up enough to roughly fry the Spam. I had included some mayo and mustard in some small plastic bags. That morning I had included two cans of beer in my lunch sack. I lifted one out and popped the top, quickly lowering my mouth to catch the foamy rush. When the stone was dry I laid the sliced Spam on it and listened to the sizzle.

            I adjusted my drying clothes as my lunch heated. The rain didn’t let up, if anything , it rained harder. I puttered about arranging the bread and cut the onion and divided it evenly between the two sandwiches. I decided that the meat was warm enough, my stomach rumbled with hunger. After assembling the sandwiches and setting them on the pack, I sat cross-legged on the ground facing out into the rain, eating slowly and washing the pungent sandwiches down with the beer. The fire radiated enough heat that it was comfortable even in the cool dampness.

            Obviously, hunting anything in this storm was a waste of time, but I was out here now and I didn’t want to go home this early in the day. So I threw another stick on the fire and watched the rain fall.

            Sudden movement at the edge of my vision caused me to turn quickly in that direction. What I saw caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. A large coyote sauntered up to the cave’s entrance and stopped. It stood there looking at me with that feral predatory look that large wild canines adopt when they find something worth pursuing. Without taking my eyes off of the threat, I reached around behind me searching for the leaning rifle. I failed. I didn’t dare turn around. Just as I was about to leap up in desperation, the coyote said, “Fooled you didn’t I. You thought I was going to eat you. No way, not after you ate that stinking Spam and onion sandwich.”

            My mouth dropped open. I swear that my chin bounced on my chest. And I’ll bet my eyes were as large and round as a saucer.  The coyote grinned, you know what a dog looks like when they smile, well, a coyote’s smile is very similar.  “What you doing out here in the rain, you soft, white human being? Besides polluting your body with that nasty canned meat?” he said. I decided the coyote was a he by the tone of his voice.

            “Huntin’” I replied.

            “Oh…huntin’ what?” he asked.

            “Deer” I said.

            “In here?” the coyote’s ears swiveled, and he cocked his head as if perplexed. “I don’t see any deer in here, not even any sign that they have been in here.” He sat down and stared at me.

            “Well, I have hiked for 4 hours in this rain. I was wet and hungry, and kinda cold. So I decided to get out of the rain and have some lunch. I didn’t even see a fresh track in all that time.” I whined.

            “No doubt, deer aren’t stupid you know, a little dull and unimaginative, but not stupid.  Likely, they are huddled under a tree somewhere. Staying dry. You could’ve stayed home in your soft, warm, and dry bed” he laughed, silently.

            I looked at him, embarrassed a bit, by the obvious. Something caught my eye and I looked at him more carefully. “You’re dry! How can you wander around in this rain and not be sopping wet?” I was amazed and not a little confused. If the truth was known, I was getting scared now, this didn’t seem to be normal.

            The coyote sighed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. It makes this a lot more complicated.” He paused. “I’m a special coyote. You might have already guessed that. What you don’t know is you picked THIS cave to hide from the rain…big mistake. BIG.” I wanted to ask why but the coyote shook his head as if saying not to. “Don’t ask, I can only tell you that this cave is a spirit cave…a portal to the realm of the Gods. I can’t tell you what that means or what happens next. You just got to go with the flow.”

            Now I was scared. Not of the talking coyote, but at his latest revelation. I am easily spooked at ‘spiritual’ doings.

            “Gotta go, you take care now” he barked, “Remember who you are and where you came from, and keep an open mind. Maybe we’ll meet again, maybe not. But it’s been fun.” He stood and turned to go.

            “Wait! What’s your name? Do you got one?” I wanted to postpone his leaving because I knew that when he was gone, I would really be frightened.

            The coyote stopped and turned back, “Everything in creation has a name. And I don’t mean some trumped up Latin concoction, I mean an individual name. Mine’s Wiley…Wiley Coyote.” He laughed mirthlessly, then he turned back and started to walk away but he stopped at a large clump of grass and cocked his leg and gave it a couple of squirts.  He walked into the rain.