Absence

   This is a still image from a short video of a coyote that I took a couple of days ago during a morning walk in Golden Gate Park. I was feeling quite depressed at the time that I first saw it off in the distance, and although the animal appeared worried by my presence and kept its' distance, the sighting helped me feel a bit better, at least for the the moment.
   When I looked at the clip a bit later, it was apparent that the coyote, which was already difficult to see clearly, was nearly indistinguishable from the surroundings in the video. Although I was a bit disappointed, the experience remained important to me, in spite of my not-so-good mood.
   As I continued walking, I used an application from my phone to try to produce a still from the video, hoping that maybe there was an image where the coyote was not only a bit clearer, but distinguishable as a coyote. After a bit of trial and error, I settled on the image below. and thought about the feelings I had at the time. As I experience other feelings now, I am aware of how delicate and fragile is my sense of presence and permanence in the world. This holds true for me, and well as those in it.
   Much in the same way that the coyote appears barely there (it is the grayish-brownish object in the gray, upper center-right), I often sense that the people in my life that I rely on the most are not always fundamentally present. I don't always find that a person's physicality makes feel like they are really with me. It depends on the person, as well as me.
   Though it is hard to show that an individual standing before you is not fully there, trusting my own feelings on the matter should be less difficult.

Is there a coyote really there?