It was just a few minutes before midnight when the eerie howls and yips of the coyotes echoed through the Bedlam Farm pasture on All Souls Night, the howls were closer than they had ever been. The chickens huddled together in their roost, the sheep ran into the Pole Barn to hide behind the donkeys, who rushed out snorting out to stand in a half-circle in front of the trembling ewes.

Inside the barn, the rats melted into the stone wall, the barn cats began to go mad,  leaping across the top of the hay bales high up in the barn, the full moon lighting up the cobwebs, exposing the mice in their sudden flight as the cats danced in the moonlight, as they did every night when the humans slept. Inside the farmhouse, the dogs howled back at the coyotes, the howls inside and out combining in a bone-chilling chorus that filled the night and drove the small animals of the world underground.

Simon and the donkeys stepped forward, towards the howls, but they were not prepared to see the coyotes just a few feet in front of them, so close they could see their breath steaming in the cold night,  their bright yellow eyes glowing in the light, sending the sheep into a circling panic in the barn. Peering through their barn slats, the cats hissed and made  moaning signs of fear and alarm. The dogs in the farmhouse were in a frenzy, the donkeys pawed the ground, uncertain what to do next, the pack of coyotes had never come this close. The chickens clucked softly, then went silent, as chickens do, awaiting their fate.

Then suddenly, as if out of nowhere, an old white pony, swayback, his eyes clouded with blindness, was standing in between the coyotes and the barn, he was standing calmly with his head down.

Simon lifted his head, his ears back. “Rocky,” he said. “You are back.”

Rocky turned his head to Simon, his ears swiveling to find him. “No,” he said. “I’ve never left.”

***

Inside the farmhouse, the humans heard the noise, and opened the door to let the dogs out, to run off the coyotes, and in the deepening mist, all three dogs  charged to the pasture gate, barking furiously in a frothing frenzy, jumping over the small gate and rushing into the pasture, as stunned as the donkeys to see this pack of coyotes just a few feet away, right in front of them. Inside the farmhouse, lights came on as the farmer and his wife scrambled to get their clothes on, but when they rushed outside – the farmer had his rifle, loading it with bullets as he ran – but when he got there, there was nothing there. They could not see or hear any dogs, any coyotes. There were no donkeys, no sheep anywhere to be seen, no barn cats, the pasture was quiet, still, absolutely silent.

The farmer and his wife were confused, alarmed. They circled the pasture and then the farmer told his wife they best get back inside the house and wait. He felt a creeping sensation up and down his spine, he did not wish to think of what kind of thing might have driven all the animals away, he did not want to see it or find it, he feared for his animals, for his family. The farmer and his wife went into the house, closed the door, turned the locks and made sure all the windows were locked tight. He kept his rifle by his side, took out his prayer book and when the lights suddenly went out, he and his wife put their arms around one another and prayed. It was deathly silent outside, the howling had ceased, there was no barking. They thought they heard what might be song, but they knew that could not be possible.

***

Inside the barn, a different world – invisible from outside –  had emerged out if the darkness and the night. At midnight, the moon came out behind the clouds, moonbeams streaking through the barn, a signal, it seemed. The chickens began to cluck, the cats shrieked and hissed, the donkeys brayed, the sheep baaahed and the dogs barked, not in alarm, but in joy, as if they had found a pile of greasy bones. Powerful beams of moonlight streaked through the holes in the barn roof,  the bats circled madly overhead and the rats and mice began to line dance with one another, all fear had gone from the pasture, a great understanding had come upon them all, this night they were brothers and sisters, not hunters and prey.

The dogs and the coyotes formed a circle all mixed together and the circled moved around and around in the light in a dizzying spin,  a new kind of howling emerging from the center of the barn, the bats formed a halo over the animals below, the spiders danced in their webs, and even the barn flies buzzed in celebration. The animals broke into song, a chaotic chorus of shouts, grunts, barks, meows, squeaks, brays and neighs – joyous hymns to Mother Earth and the lost and forgotten spirits of the animal world.

Between songs and dances – the rafters shook with all of the jumping up and down, the hooves thundering, paws skittering across the dirt floor,  the spiders – temperamental artists of the animal world – began working on a celebration quilt portraying all of the animals of the world gathering together in a Peaceable Kingdom, they called their quilt “The Promise Of The World.” They knew their beautiful work, backlit by the moon, would be gone by the next night.

In the center, Rocky, the blind pony, chewed hay alongside Simon,  his nemesis, the creature who had driven him from his home. There was no bad feeling between them, just respect and understanding, each had lived his life.

The two animals stood side by side, as they had never done, and from them a bright glow and feeling of energy spread outward to all of the other animals, they cast the spell, they were the source of it. “What else can we do tonight?,” shouted Rocky, “to celebrate the madness and joy of finding God everywhere.” As the humans cowered in their living room of their farmhouse, the ancient spirits of the animal world, the souls of the pasture, big and small, danced and barked and shouted to one another until the first light of the sun came up over the pasture – it was their time, and they all knew it on this enchanted night –  and then, just as suddenly as it had filled, the barn emptied, the pasture was covered in mist, the small creatures of the night retreated to their pastures, the sheep to the barn, the donkeys to the field, the coyotes disappeared into the woods as silently as they had come.

Rocky, still aglow, shrouded in mist and mystery,  prepared to take his leave. “Goodbye,” Simon said, “thanks for coming,” and the two old creatures together repeated the ancient prayer of the animal world:

“Glory to us. This was once our world, and this shall one day be our world again.”

****

In the morning, the farmer and his wife unlocked their door and peered out. A dead mouse was lying by the door. The dogs were asleep on the back porch, out in the meadow the donkeys and the sheep were grazing, the barn cats had vanished into their hiding places for the day. The farmer and his wife walked quietly out to the barn opened the door and both gasped. Hay was strewn everywhere, the dirt floor looked as if a herd of cattle had trampled on it, shelves and buckets were strewn all over, and the farmer’s wife touched her husband’s arm and pointed to a beam of light coming from the sun. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she said, of the gorgeous and intricate spider quilt  reaching across the wooden beams of the barn, it was a collage, it showed donkeys and sheep and dogs and cats and mice and coyotes gathered in a field, dancing in the moonlight together under a banner which glowed in the light and read: “The Heart Holds That Which Can Never Be Touched.”