Coexistence is a tidy word for something that isn’t tidy at all.

Not one bit.

It makes it sound like everyone agreed, shook hands, and found a comfortable distance to stand.
Like the land drew a line and said, you stay here, you stay there.
That’s not how it works out here.

Out here, coexistence is overlap.
Fence lines crossing migration routes.
Calving season landing in the middle of a hungry wolf season.
 Towns built where water and wildlife still want to go.

Roads laid down long after animals memorized the same paths.
Often, it’s nature left to mop up what we didn’t want.
The land doesn’t resolve conflict.
It absorbs it.
Pressure passes through. Adjustments are made, whether we like them or not.
Some things change.
Some things endure.
Sometimes life surges forward. Sometimes it tightens and pulls back.

At its best, coexistence looks like inconvenience, restraint, and attention.
Moving a little slower.
Watching a little longer.
Learning that comfort and balance are not the same thing.

That may be the lesson the land keeps offering, patiently.

We may arrive convinced we have the answer, but nature has seen that approach before.
She can wait longer than we can.
She brings life when the moment is right, and takes it back when balance slips.

The mistake is thinking coexistence means peace.

Out here, it means staying awake to what’s actually happening , and resisting the urge to simplify it.

Shared ground isn’t about eliminating tension.

It’s about living inside it without letting it harden into war.

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