Bigfoot and I

Today I wandered through a grove. An ancient and dilapidated place, decaying as groves are wont. A wind-snapped branch here, a worm-eaten stump there. Until the whispering wind softly muttered in my ear, “This is not your first time here.” But all is different now, Younger somehow. I hearken to my fearless years; my previous encounter here. When the stump was an oak. A wretched, writhing tree suffocating in a blanket of ivy, whose scoliosis trunk bowed to greet me. With a heave of my pack I trudged on by. Adventure was afoot. Just a yard shy of never remembering this place A twitchy leaf began an unnatural dance. And there, entranced, beyond the pirouette, an eye. Eight, or ten…no, twelve feet high! And a deeper green than nature intended. Focused with an intensity mustered only by insanity. Being young, and naïve, I blinked. That curious eye, the oak, the grove, vanished into the whispering wind. Now, decaying as groves and boys are wont, I sit my scoliosis frame upon a worm-eaten stump. Far too frail today, to heave a pack, or pirouette for that matter. Through foggy lenses, clouded by time, and focused with an intensity mustered only by insanity, I watch. Preston Graham 04/16/15