An Ultralight Romance OR Cloudcoyoteland

Coyote remembered some of his favorite runs when he had gone

with other coyotes to catch a deer. He could feel

the slow-twitch muscle fibers pulling oxygen from fat cells

as he entered a zone of automatic strides. He looked ahead

at the shadow of the cloud he was trying to catch.

What would Mole think when he came back with a mouth full

of cloud?

Coyote’s mantra was: Food sex sleep. He was saying his mantra

as he loped along. Coyote had had a number of wives already

in his wifetime. He always wanted to marry someone or something.

He was getting closer to the cloud now, running up a hill.

This cloud looked very beautiful, soft, white, gentle,

and nonjudgmental—also, deep, complex, nonjudgmental.

Coyote jumped but could not reach her. He asked Hummingbird

for help, but Hummingbird knew he could never lift Coyote,

even an inch. But, he wanted to help and he had seen some

contraptions that might be of use to a clever dog. “I think

they are called ultralights. They fly low and are buzzy

and unstable. They hang out with the bigger metal birds

on a hard rock field.”

Coyote was off to the races. He started to form a Patrick Swayze

face to get into the flight area of the airport. For some reason,

the masks of celebrities received much more respect

and were useful than any original mask. And the masks

of handsomer ones were better than plainer ones.

He asked and was able to get a free lesson if he signed

a few autographs. He got in the go-cart and Ronnie showed

him how to start the engine. Then Ronnie laid out the inflatable

cloth wing and gave him instructions on how to steer it,

“Don’t worry if the engine quits—you’ll just glide down.

Are you ready?”

Coyote barked out an assent and he was ready for ascent.

The first day, he was able to fly up and see cloud eye to eye

so to speak. He finally found the cloud—at least he thought

it was her. When he got close, though, she fell apart.

He turned around and slowed the ultralight.

"I love you," Coyote said to Cloud. "I want to marry you."

The cloud scutted faster, "I can not marry you. I’m a changeling.

I am soft and fluffy, now, but I can become deep and black, or grey,

thin and ragged. You would have a hard time loving me then."

“My emotions build up like storm clouds. No, look, I am a cloud

myself,” Coyote put pieces of cotton over his nose and eyes.

But he couldn’t see and the machine lost altitude and he hit

his nose on the frame.

The cloud slowed, “I never saw a cloud fall so fast, unless

it was raining.”

“Look,” Coyote pointed to the blood on his shoulder,

“it’s dark rain. Please let me marry you,” Coyote insisted.

“I will love you even when you are ragged. I can hold you together

through every storm.”

Then the hour was up and he was almost out of gas,

“I’ll come back tomorrow!” Coyote shouted as he turned

around and accidentally dispersed Cloud with the fan.

The next day, Coyote snuck into the airfield and stole the craft.

He found Cloud over the Arizona desert. “Hey, look,”

he said, slowing down carefully and putting on a mirror mask.

Cloud loved it.

The third day, Coyote could not find any clouds.

On the fourth day, Coyote and Cloud were married by King Stratus.

She said, “I will call you Mahpiya Luta.”

“And, I will call you Eidola. What does that Mahpiya mean?”

“Red cloud,” she replied, knowing that Eidolon meant cloud.

Red? On the whole, though, Coyote was pleased. They floated

together for many days. They floated in the warm blue skies

and they floated in the cool starry nights. Well, she floated;

he had to go get gas every hour or two.

But one day the wind came and the cloud started to break up

into small pieces. Poor Coyote did not know what to do.

He began flying from one small cloud piece to another,

but soon had nothing to grab or see; the flying machine ran out

of gas and drifted to the ground.

He landed on a pebble beach by Dry Wash and was knocked

out cold. He lay on the rocks for several hours. Flies came

and settled around his mouth. Later that day a group of children

came down to the beach to play. “Look! A dead dog!” one

of the girls called when she found Coyote's body lying flat

and still on the ground. The other children gathered around him.

They were shocked to see Coyote's face, with cuts and pieces

of mirrors. Some of the children started to cry. “Poor dead dog,”

they crooned. “Poor dead dog.”

One of the children put her pretty blanket over Coyote.

They left to tell their friends so they could see the dead animal.

When Coyote woke up, he was alone. He sat down on a large rock

and thought and thought. ‘I will never marry a cloud again.

I will never marry a gull or a raven or anything that flies.

I will not marry a rainbow or a star. From now on I will stay

on the ground, well, under the ground.’

Coyote stood up and looked at the sky. Cloud was becoming

full and fluffy again, but he knew it could not work. He waved

to her but she did not stop.

The rock was getting warmer. Coyote was wearing the blanket,

but it was hot. He put it over the rock and said, “Here young lady,

you may have my fine blanket.”

The rock noticed how fine it was with bright beads,

straight porcupine quills, and feathers that moved in the breeze.

Then it got breezy again and Coyote wanted it back.

He asked, but the rock, whose name was Sandy, said, “No!”

He stole it away, but Sandy chased him. He took shelter

in the only tree in the field, and shouted to the rock,

“Go away. It’s my blanket.”

“But, you gave it to me!” Sandy said. “It’s an engagement gift.”

Coyote thought a moment and said, “Will you marry me?”

Then Sandy said, “Yes!” Coyote asked if it was safe to come

down. He wondered what their kids would look like.

That union with Rock only lasted a day, well, an hour, maybe

two minutes. Anyway, he left, sore and bruised. And humbled.

He walked for days, then collapsed, and slept for days.

He was observed by two. The Crow Brothers were spying

on Coyote. “Look at him, just lying in the sun, dozing off.

Too much trouble to turn over or rearrange his legs.

Why isn’t he looking for food, like Mouse, or cleaning his fur,

like Mountain Lion?”

“Yea, or observing other animals like us? I’ll tell you why.

It’s because Coyote is monumentally, appallingly lazy.”

“Yea, I’m getting bored just watching him. How many hours

has it been?”

“11,417.”

“No, just today.”

“Almost 4. Let’s fly.”

“Okay!”

And they flew off towards something shiny in the distance.