In the time when animals spoke with humans, and the mountains were young and still stretching toward the sky, there lived a Coyote who thought himself cleverer than all other beings. His tail was always held high, his nose always in the air, and his mouth was always ready with a boast or a clever word.
One hot summer day, when the sun blazed like a copper disk in the sky, Coyote was trotting along an ancient path through the red rocks, looking for someone to impress with his wisdom. As he rounded a bend, he came upon a massive boulder, round and smooth, sitting quietly at the top of a hill.
The boulder was old – older than the oldest stories. It had watched countless seasons pass, felt the touch of countless rains, and held the wisdom of countless years in its stone heart. But Coyote, being Coyote, saw only an opportunity to prove his cleverness.
“Well, well,” said Coyote, circling the great rock with a swagger in his step. “What have we here? Just a simple rock, sleeping away the day. How boring it must be, never moving, never doing anything exciting.”
The rock said nothing, as rocks often do.
“You know,” continued Coyote, his voice dripping with false sympathy, “I could help you have an adventure. Yes, yes! With my superior wisdom, I could show you how to dance down this hill. Wouldn’t that be something?”
The rock spoke then, its voice deep and slow like thunder rolling across distant mountains: “Brother Coyote, I have sat here since the First People walked these lands. I am content. The wind and rain are my companions, and wisdom comes from knowing one’s place in the world.”
But Coyote threw back his head and laughed. “Wisdom? What wisdom is there in sitting still? No, no, let me show you what real living is like!” And before the rock could speak again, Coyote began to dig away the earth that held the boulder in place.
As he dug, three ravens landed in a nearby juniper tree. “Brother Coyote,” called the eldest raven, “leave the rock in peace. Some things are not meant to be disturbed.”
“Quiet, you black-feathered fool!” Coyote snapped. “Watch and learn from one wiser than you!”
The second raven spoke: “Brother Coyote, that rock has sat there since the Great Spirit shaped these lands. It is not for us to move what the Great Spirit has placed.”
But Coyote only dug faster, his paws flinging dirt into the air. “You’re all just jealous of my clever plan!”
The youngest raven made one last attempt: “Brother Coyote, pride goes before a great fall.”
Coyote stood up tall and proud. “Fall? Ha! I never fall. I am far too clever for that. Now watch this!”
With a final push, Coyote dislodged the great rock. For a moment, it teetered on the edge, and in that moment, the rock spoke one last time: “Brother Coyote, you were warned.”
The boulder began to roll, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Coyote pranced alongside it, singing a song of his own cleverness. “See? See how I’ve taught the rock to dance! Who else but I could be so wise, so skilled, so-”
But Coyote was so busy boasting that he didn’t notice the rock starting to veer toward him. By the time he saw his danger, it was too late. The boulder caught him up in its path, rolling over him again and again as they tumbled down the hill together.
When at last they reached the bottom, the rock came to rest in a new spot, as content there as it had been above. And poor Coyote? He lay flat as a juniper bark, every bone in his body aching, his proud tail now drooping, his clever tongue silent for once.
The three ravens glided down from their tree to look at him. “Brother Coyote,” said the eldest, “perhaps now you understand that wisdom includes knowing when to leave things as they are.”
Coyote could only groan in response, for even his quick tongue had been humbled by the rolling rock.
And so it is told that even today, if you walk among the red rocks and see a boulder sitting peacefully on a hill, it’s best to leave it be. For not all things need to dance, and true wisdom often lies in knowing when to stay still.
