One time I was travelling out east and booked a campsite in Mi’kmaq territory in Nova Scotia. I was all alone there, on a high sloping hill overlooking the surrounding countryside. In the distance I could see the ocean. The moon was almost full and shone quite brightly over fields around my site. I slept in a very small tent, a one person deal with the classic prism shape. The night had grown cold and I was ill-prepared for the chill that settled.
As I was falling sleep I suddenly heard what sounded like flutes being played. It was rich and warm like a wooden instrument. I also got the impression women were singing. I couldn’t understand where this was coming from. Then gradually I felt as though I was being lifted up out of myself, as if I was going to go through the roof of the tent. Truth be told it was a lovely feeling. I wasn’t scared. I willingly gave myself over to it.
Then out of nowhere I heard what sounded like laughter. Immediately the spell was broken and I returned to my cold tent, listening intently. I realized it was probably a coyote, making its coughing/barking noises. It sounded very much like laughter that eventually trailed away into the night. I was left cold and shivering, still trying to hold on to the music and voices, but also chuckling to myself about the rotten little coyote that had broken the spell.
I’d like to think this experience has some deeper meaning. I researched the Mi’kmaq culture to see what they believed about coyotes. In some First Nation’s cultures he was a trickster, but apparently coyotes are latecomers to the Maritimes, and so there wasn’t much about him there. For them, the crow is the trickster. I couldn’t help but see him as a trickster anyway that night, for breaking the spell and then laughing at me into the night. I don’t really know what to make of it all, other than something magical seemed to happen there, not far from Paqꞌtnkek First Nation lands.
