Chasing Footprints
As I enter the old-growth forest,
silent shadows hush whispering leaves.
And quiet descends like a curtain,
suppressing sound within its tight weaves.
A transformation slowly takes place,
from a rough trail to a dense thicket.
And the woods swallow reality,
replacing it with something wicket.
Hairs on the back of my neck stand straight:
following the footsteps Bigfoot made.
And although at first, they weren't that clear:
they're now so fresh that I'm afraid.
Not far, a tree-thump reverberates
through the air, sounding like a loud bang.
And a low-pitched rumble can be heard
behind some branches that overhang.
Making a tactical withdrawal,
I quickly got the hell out of there.
For when it comes to bigfoot sightings,
believe me, I've had more than my share.
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