The coyote walks the maze: a curious creature navigating paths unknown, paths repeated, paths redundant. In the desert sun, the coyote's shadow stretches, a mirror in the sand. The maze, an eternal puzzle, continues to unfold, revealing nothing and everything.
Eyes watch from the walls of the labyrinth, but there are no eyes, only reflections of the sunset. The coyote hears whispers, ancient and modern, echoing through the corridors of stone and sand. The whispers tell stories of beginnings and endings, of journeys untraveled and roads well worn.
In the heart of the maze, the coyote pauses. A moment suspended in time. The moment stretches, contracts, and stretches again. It is hypnotic, the rhythm of the coyote's breath, the pulse of the maze under a cobalt sky.
The coyote's path is circular. It wanders in spirals, the circle, the cycle, the perpetual return — a dance of shadows and light. The observer becomes part of the maze, intertwined with the coyote's tale, flowing through the recesses of memory and imagination.
So the coyote continues, forever onwards, forever circled. The maze remains, a symbol of life's intricate design, both beautiful and bewildering. The coyote, a symbol of cleverness and survival, reminds us that every end is a new beginning, hidden within the puzzle's labyrinthine embrace.