The Black Sage Journal

  This piece was first published in Volume 25 of Sky Island Journal . An encounter with a coyote one evening on a local trail was both the inspiration and a reminder of the burden I've been carrying around for a number of decades.  Coyote Ugly The canid materialized from the brush and onto the fire road in front of me like an apparition. Until he emerged into the clearing, I hadn’t noticed him. He moved invisibly through the gray-brown chaparral, his muted coat the perfect cloaking device for one whose existence depends upon stealth and surprise. Standing perhaps twenty yards distant, he was large and lithe as coyotes ought to be. I immediately paused when I saw him. Not out of apprehension, but instead awe and admiration. Coyote yelps, barks, and howls are commonplace in this place, but the boisterous culprits usually prefer to remain anonymous and unseen.  The coyote briefly paused too and looked my way. Not out of awe and admiration, but instead apprehension. The hoots and holle

  Mitch Robbins : Danny was embarrassed to tell the class what my job is. Barbara Robbins : They’re nine. They get excited about the guy who gives them change at the arcade. You just happen to have one of those jobs that’s difficult to… Mitch Robbins : …believe that a grown man does without losing his mind. I mean, what is my job? I mean, I sell advertising time on the radio. So basically, I sell air. At least my father was an upholsterer, he made a sofa or a couch, you sit on, it was something tangible. What can I point to? Where’s my work? It’s air! ~City Slickers I’ve decided that I like physical labor. Swinging the pick axe until I’m panting hard and my shoulders ache. Shoveling dirt until sweat drips from my face and stings my eyes. Ripping up sod in the cool morning air. Attacking militant weeds, edging an unruly lawn, re-staining a weather-faded fence, and fixing non-functioning fixtures. I really don’t mind doing any of it. In fact, I quite enjoy it. It’s an expedient to a good