Standing atop a sand dune overlooking the shore, the ancient circle of life comes into view. At the beginning of the year hundreds of elephant seals swim ashore here. A complex set of interactions unfold on a sandy, dusk-filled beach. A small female cries under the forceful weight of a much larger male; while at the same instant two bulls square-off and drum their voices.
A new-born pup, maybe a day or two old, draws to her mother's breast in the chaos. The thread to survive is shared between mother and pup. A delicate thread to be sure.
The pup rests, just past the approaching tide. The sun drops behind the water filled horizon. The raven comes. Its stilted walk, circling from behind, not wanting to reveal its black, wooden face. The young seal still, lies on the cool, wet sand. It's head hidden. Her eyes closing, because sleep was come.
Every year, deeply rooted in the mental map of a scavenger, the coyote journeys down from the coastal hills. The first trip experienced as youthful adventure. But remembered by the purposed direction to a place.
A place where the seals come ashore when the mid-day sun is low in the sky and the shadows are long across the sand.