Coyote Too

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She told me to meet her in the garden, under the full moon. "Come at midnight, and wear nothing," she had said with sternness in her voice, but a glint of laughter in her eyes. And so I found myself, stepping gingerly down aisles of corn and sunflowers, searching for my mysterious lover.

I smelled her before I saw her; the odd scent of lilacs wafting through the corn rows. She lay motionless in a clearing by a small dead tree, covered with dew-wet petals that glistened in the moonlight. They shaped and formed her curves, defining her lips, her breasts, the inviting curve of her hips. Had they fallen upon her, leaving the tree bare and lifeless? Or had they indeed formed her, molded her, transformed themselves into the living, breathing soul of the lilac tree? Those questions come to me, each time I smell the sweet scent of a lilac tree again, each time I taste a shadow of the need and desire that drew me to her that night.

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