I'm at a funeral in Middle Earth. They're eulogizing Boromir, that difficult man. His companions raise their great war-axes and chunk them down into a great stump by his grave, and leave them as a memorial. Then straggle off one by one, till I'm left by his grave, alone. It starts to drizzle, but I lie down in the cool damp grass and go to sleep. My quieter form of mourning: solidarity with the dead.

I startle awake in the night. An Ent is looming over me. Ents are slow, long-lived, tree-guardians, wise and humorous. This one resembles a pine. I wait to see what it'll tell me--but instead of speaking, it grows cloudy and transforms! Hawk wings sprout from the confusion; barky skin turns to fur; a long jaunty tail. The ent's become Winged Coyote, the guardian spirit of Mexico!

The climate suddenly seems mixed too--more desert--this looks like a mountain in Sonora. Suddenly I understand the new flag of Mexico--the eagle and snake are gone, instead there's an adobe church flanked by an organpipe cactus and a pine tree. I know the church symbolizes either humans or Europeans--does the cactus stand for the Indians? But that pine stands for the Ents--the Mexicans proudly calls themselves "heirs of the Ents" not of the Aztecs.

Quiet night. Bright desert stars. I get up on all fours. All fours? Look at my paws, tail. I'M the winged coyote now! The full moon rises. Moonlight floods me with a wild joy and I howl at her face.

I scamper to the Gate at the border of Gringoland. Five meters tall, and made of cold iron, but I don't care. I yip impatiently to the Keepers of the Gate to open it, but by the time they're moving, I've already scrambled halfway up the gate. Over the top. The Keepers now fly off to their own pueblos that shine on the horizon--fractured crystal citadels like Superman's. I chant happily to myself "Goodbye to all that. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye." And fly in the desert night, looping round the ponderous Guardians in delight.

But even my joy comes to an end. Even Coyote has responsibilities. At last I fly to Gringo City to inspect the houses and people. It's oppressively hot there, too much machinery, too much energy. I want someone else to share this job with me. It's turning into a chore... These gringos can turn anything into work!

MORNING NOTES

• Boromir: in THE LORD OF THE RINGS, Boromir, ambitious and proud and desperate to save his country, misjudges his strength and is seduced by the Ring. He tries to take it...
• So his funeral means... my unhealthy heroism is laid to rest at last!
• Flying coyote = freedom. I become free when Wagnerian heroism dies...
• Goodbye To All That = feminist phrase and book title from around 1970, and before that from another book around 1920 on how World War One smashed the old class and sex-roles, including heroism.
• Gringo workaholism = my next challenge. Even Coyote's no match for that!

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