Bring on the Rain

Friday, October 2, 5:45 p.m. - It's raining.  The sky is a dusty powder blue.  Today's walk almost feels like my first trip.  The woods are quickly changing, and I take my time to find my spot on the log.  I hear an orchestra of birds at the top of the trees beyond my normal spot.  Before I can reach my nook, I pause to catch my breath.  An eerie silence sets me back a step, and I hear a tidal wave of wind swooping above.  The flock migrates to another tree.  It doesn't take them long to resume choir practice.

The day I don't bring Manny and there's some action.  Two separate neighbors are walking their dogs in the woods.  It's pouring.  Rain pounds my back; the naked tree limbs display a pathetic attempt at giving me shelter.  Two black dogs are barking in the distance.  One makes eye contact with me and takes off in my direction.  It's partner, a bigger version of my attacker, seems as if it is only interested in chasing the other;  I am not even in the picture.  They jump and lick smelling Manny's scent on my clothes.  The owner walks around the trail to avoid me as she yells for her pups.  The bigger puppy sprints another lap around me and the trail before exiting with his family.

The woman looked freaked out probably thinking what is this bum doing sitting in the woods on a log in the rain.  The ensemble of birds has moved trees, again, and I've lost them.  The only thing disturbing the silence is the raindrops pelting off the ground of leaves like BB's hitting off aluminum siding.  Or like a child popping a giant sheet of bubble wrap.

Spending time in the woods has helped me to remember a lot more of my childhood.  Even after what I said in my last entry about not being able to write about my childhood.  I think it is funny how one little thing leads to another.  These woods hold tons of memories.  My friends and I owned (or thought we owned) these parts.  From the drawing yesterday, I came up with so many more memories.  Where I am now was where we spent most of our time; I have the fondest memories of placing squares of carpet in our tree house.  My friend walk through these trails to a creek deep in the woods where we would dig for crawfish under the rocks.

The good times are shadowed by one dark moment that sticks out in the back of my head.  The woods behind my house where we sometimes explored was host to a disturbing scene.  Twelve to fifteen foot bike jumps lined the dirt of an area in the woods.  My friends and I would sometimes watch the older kids or even weave over and around the bumps of a mini track.  One day, an older kid had a bad accident.  When everyone was at the hospital and the neighborhood was calm, we checked out the scene.  Walking the plateau we followed a trail of blood that seemed to drag across the dirt for half a mile.  The next day a crew of bulldozers flattened the mounds.

Here come the bears.  These other two dogs are massive;  their fur is thick and matted like a wet bail of hay.  They leave me with a healthy serving of slobber.  I decide to make the trek home as the rain comes down even harder.