Eyes of Orion

The coyotes yip and howl under the moonless stars. I can never tell if it's from loneliness or triumph.

I remember a time when the wolves used to roam here. Proud packs. Apex predators, stalking, hunting, and killing their prey without nary a worry save the threat of other wolves. And the occasional coyote.

Now the wolves are gone. Hunted to extinction for crimes that were not theirs. Such is humanity's way. When no real reason for extermination is forthcoming, one is produced. Synthesized. Adopted.

Now the coyote rules these frigid wastes. Alone. There are no packs. One could say there are hardly even families out here. Everyone is strangers, and hardly anyone looks up anymore. In their current state, humanity will find their destiny at the bottom of the holes they dig, rather than at the highest heavens they dream of.