Soaked Coyote

Rain falls.
Thunder claps.
A lone coyote howls.
He must be soaked, that coyote.
I suppose I am like him.
He is alone,
And I lie in my room in the company of solitude,
Contemplating petty things while rain pelts his once wispy coat.
To him, petty things are nonexistent.
Life for the coyote is purely action, never contemplation.
I could learn from him
And meander in the midnight rain as he does,
Or trot through the endless forest of life, perpetually oblivious to the unexpected thunderstorms.
The coyote could be my friend; my teacher.
Together, we could trot up the hill with lightning at our backs,
Carrying on in the fleeting storms