The fall in Yellowstone is usually the most exciting time, late at night in the chilled
air you hear the coyotes wailing, and the elk bugling. Sounds signaling the primacy of a world
mostly lost to us now. And the next day, while hiking, you might stumble on the remains of an aging buffalo
or elk that gave its life for the continued life of the predators who stalked it. Somehow everything
seems focused clearer, and sharper during these short days before winter sets in. Life, Death, and the integral
cycle of being.
When I am there in the fall, I usually get up before the sun. I head down to Madison Junction
in Yellowstone Park, hoping to find a group of elk that may gather there on the frosty mornings
during the fall rut.
One such morning, I watched an incredible interplay between a couple of bulls, and his 'harem', which I've
sketched out in a short piece Morning Larcency. In a flash I learned that these
wild animals are easily at least as conscious, and socialized as most homo-sapiens.