Coyote on a Winter's Eve

A poem.

Coyote on a winter's eve The coyote glides into view, fluid
 and wary. Pale against the cedars
 he tracks along the slope,
 mapping its contour.
  Sometimes on a winter's eve
 he finds scraps here. He mouths
 them on the trot, glancing over
 his shoulder at the house, not
  trusting it for a minute. Inside,
 lights blink on and a young dog,
 warm behind the glass, barks
 a warning, wails his sudden
  longing to lope off too,
 shoulder to shoulder, knowing
 deep in his bones how to match
 that wild gait.
  Sue Wunder

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.