I had to listen to the fact man, and when it went beyond what I could tolerate I got up, and left.
“All who wander are not lost” is about the quoted words and the last part of that line should be added that “some truly are” and for good reason. If you must have a sidewalk, you can’t come with me. If it’s all black and white in your world, my grey spaces would find you, alone.
In my head it’s nice to know those unicorns and dragons, the good dragons and the bad have just as much a chance as mermaids and a yeti. After too many facts some try, some succeed in others and its spoils the broth. My primordial soup has a much thicker sauce.
I have laid in summer grass with eyes closed feeling the warm sun go across my face and through the meadow and maybe heard the foot falls of mischievous elves.
Sat in a breeze just after sunset, air is misted in a coolness and out of my peripheral vision, was that a bit of fairy light darting back into the taller grass as to be almost unseen by me?
A dark shadow crosses my path behind me and I swiftly turn in the pine coned trail to listen for a branch to crack, a limb to sway and the hair on the back of my neck goes stiff.
Something was there, something massive soundless and watching me, eyeing my whereabouts, but what. I bend, I look, I search only to find no tracks, in the moss to reveal its earthen or other nature.
From a rock promontory in a sunny bright day, high up in a cliff I watch the birds soar, these talon’d falcons float as I drift off mentally with them into an aerial wonder.
From below me comes a low guttural growl. My mind slams my body back to the solid rock I sit atop and I scan below as the feeling of sound, a sound perhaps admonishing me to the fact that I may not be a welcome visitor. Its echo chases again up the rock face into mine.
Ghouls, souls of animals, water phantoms, things not yet discovered by the scientists, luckily for me untrained to even look for.
I like my woods and waters, there’s much more to mine. The trout whisperer