always missing deadlines

Sometimes a word is enough. Not often, but sometimes. You'll hear it said or maybe see it on a billboard. You'll see a neon sign with some letters missing revealing a whole new word to you that you'd forgotten. We pick our favorites, sometimes for aesthetics, sometimes for no reason. Words are something we can't do without now, but so few of them seem precious. Even fewer seem significant.

For me, word rediscovery usually comes in the form of song. To hear a word spoken enough times often kills the real experience of it. That can be fixed by extending the sound to a melody. In this case, coyote was a word that didn't cross my mind. The animal itself was never much part of my regular life, nor was I first hand affected by the illegal people movers that have taken on the namesake. Then I heard it in a song, all of the syllables brought out to their fullest: co-yo-te. Of course, it was pronounced kai-yo-tee in the more or less traditional English fashion, but it was something of an experience to hear the word flattened out so much, pulled along notes. It seemed suddenly new, and I had to think to myself: what is a coyote?.

In the context of the song that it was sung in, I'm not sure I know what coyote means. It could be a far off lover calling for her mate, it could be the nature of relationships itself. That word stuck in my head, though. I kept pronouncing it the way I had heard it sung. I let it sit in my mouth while being spoken, tasted each sound and marveled at its completion each time. Infatuation naturally led to research. I read up about the actual coyote, and weirdly enough, I saw one in an open field, broad daylight, on the way to a kind of remote location where youths used to go to express angst in the form of crappy spray painted phrases and curses. Having the thought of the word in my mind, it was an incredible surprise to see the subject of my infatuation, like somehow seeing the animal retooled the word again for a second time. He was a small thing, much less menacing than I imagined a lonesome prowler would be. Perhaps the shining sun distracted me from the mystery that surrounds the far off cry. Still, I was curious as to what would coax a coyote into venturing out into the broadness of day, so easily seen from passing cars. Had he become as desperate as the rest of us?

We take words at face value once we learn them. The purpose of the word is to recall a memory, to describe the things in our lives that we find meaningful so that others can share the experience with us if only second hand. That dishonest shared experience, it seems, no longer takes place. Words are just words that no longer represent an actual thing, but are their own entity, capable of exchange from not conveyance. It is probably that all languages fall to this at some point in its development. Once the discovery period of language is gone, what are we left with but sounds?

I never was able to decide what it is to be a coyote. I do not know what I am evoking in another when I say coyote, nor could I imagine what you will imagine when you read the word. In my mind there is an amalgamation of an animal crying for its love not forgotten. I can't help but think of the kind of survival that isn't proud, that is no longer necessary but still unable to quit. Frustrating as it is to not be able to come to a conclusion, it does fill me with some gladness that there was still some majesty left to find in language. Maybe we should sing all our words.