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Coyote Woman

And the coyotes invaded the city, and recovered the space that belonged to them, brazenly claiming, before the sight of the incredulous humans, that this is their space and that they are not going to leave.

Throughout the night they tormented with their howls of freedom the humans secluded in their little comfort boxes, recalling the wild instincts that lay dormant in those poor domesticated souls. Every full moon, every new moon, one howl after another. The privileged pets shudder with fear, with excitement, while the humans dream dreams of sadness, longing and yearning. For they all know that this is the coyotes' territory, which they usurped, for their comfort.

And the coyotes refuse to disappear, they recover the memory of a domesticated species that yearns for the freedom that the imaginary of capitalism made them lose. Exchanging walking in the mountains and swimming in the rivers for a bank account, a car and a Netflix account from where they watch documentaries of the wild world.

Its howl, at times romantic, at other times cryptic, incessant, macabre, dark, melancholic, but always powerful. A chorus of nature that refuses to die, that calls us to feel alive and to open our eyes to the destruction and suffering we are causing. Because deep down we all know that we humans are destined to suffer the same fate as those quadrupeds, and every night is a reminder of our glory and our end.