Perhaps it rounds the corner just as you approach, leading you ever onward. You see nothing but its back. It tells you what you want to know, and you reserve the future because of it. You follow it through the daily motions of name, address, date of birth.
Yet maybe while its presence can be easily felt in the long held note of a coyote, you still know nothing about its color. A nothing of a color that persists and persists and persists. And so you will not miss it as it hovers, then disappears, slowed to the point of contemplation. In its place a dazzling golden sunflower whose plucked petals fly one-by-one, lit by bits of sunshine, upward in a sudden swirl of fragrant, cylindrical wind.