What A Day

A short story of an afternoon stroll after a long days drive.

Sunset, a special time of reflection. A time for mulling over the events of the day to see if any qualify as a permanent memory in the grand scale of life. The brilliant illumination of the sun passed around clouds that cluttered its path. It seemed now would be the perfect stopping time. I needed a break from driving. The sky bore colors like that of a mega-box of crayons and I wanted to enjoy the moment.

That morning I decided to take the slow scenic route instead of I-30 of the expressway toward Little Rock, Arkansa. This year my vacation consisted of a road trip to a neighboring state. I wanted to feed my soul on the spirits of peace and tranquility that its nature had to offer. Last year's vacation that I planned to perfection, failed with perfection also. Nothing went right, from unmerciful flight delays, to a mess up on rental cars, to a motel where the most needed item at the time was a workable phone. The desk clerk, who so cheerfully took my money ten minutes earlier was nowhere to be found ten minutes later. Vanished completely, never to be seen again. Not by me anyhow.

The loose gravel seemed to come to life as it relieved itself from the weight of the tires. I came to a stop in a small, quaint, yet littered rest area. Tired eyes looked back at me in the rear view mirror as a slow deep breath escaped. I stretched my legs as much as I could within the confines of my little red compact car.

That is when I noticed a nature trail, carpeted with leaves. It nestled among a grove of trees that shaded three concrete picnic tables. I moved slowly toward the path until the blood started to circulate in my tired muscles. Forty minutes later, I find I am still walking taking in the natural beauty of spring wild flowers, dogwood blossoms, bluebonnets, coral honeysuckle inter-twined on bushes. I stopped only to watch a whooping crane drinking from a pond peppered with water lilies. It is shadowed by the serenity supplied by weeping willow trees. Ahead I could see rock formations jutting out of the slopes of steep hills and beyond that cows grazing in a field of grass so green I could smell it. In all my life I had never known of a more peaceful spot. I always had an affection for scenery and this was a Kodak moment. It was beautiful.

The last glimmer of sunlight slipped away behind deep dark bruised colored mass of clouds streaked with veins of pinks. Rain seems promising. A sudden strong north wind drastically whips my long blond hair about wildly. It brought coolness to the air that was refreshing, yet was ushering in a spring rainstorm. The low rumble of thunder verified the fact a storm was brewing. The wind died and moisture lingered in the air again leaving me feeling dirty and damp. The hum of crickets singing in the bushes and the sound of locust from high in the trees had faded. The light from the tails of fireflies lingering about that was soothing, peaceful, and relaxing a moment ago, now signaled a feeling of uncertainty. They disappeared unnoticed one by one.

Wondering how fast the return trip could be shortened, I walked in swift sure strides. I hoped to make it to the car before the rain began. Suddenly a loud harsh shrill cry came splitting through the dark like rough fingernails resisting a blackboard. I stopped dead in my tracks. Tiny hairs on the nape of my neck stood at attention as goose bumps ran down my arms. The outburst died as suddenly as it came and silence reigned once again.

For the first time since I can remember, I felt fear. My heart raced, chest rising and falling with every breath. Feet wanting to run supported legs heavier than usual. refusing to move. I was paralyzed, rendered helpless by horror. I looked around for my danger, not wanting to leave this world with an autopsy report that read, cause of death: "fright."

There, high above me, an image perched on a bare limb near the top of an old elk tree was the source of my fear. Its head nestled backward on a chunky body, an oval face, its wide eyes and searching. It was a screech owl, alienated on its limb high in the tree. He bobs his head twice and let out another cry as his head returns to a normal position.

Mesmerized for a scary moment, I studied him as he studied me. His body posed in an unnatural stillness, mystifying against a full moon--that managed to peak between clouds--glowing to it's brightest before allowing itself to be swallowed up again. I could see the sudden peculiar movement of his head swiveling around in all directions. It bobbed up and down as if my very presence disturbed him.

My stillness betrayed a fear I didn't want to admit. I discovered that my body was weak and legs were as rubber. It seemed to be a struggle just to think straight. With increasing courage, though, I moved from my lingering state long enough to grab the first big rock closest to my dust streaked sneakers. With trembling hands I held onto my rock with white knuckled strength as a reasonable chance of some protection. If there was an oncoming hostile air attack, I would not stand defenseless. I sensed startling him would only draw more unwelcome attention to me, and this fowl of the air could overpower my futile efforts of escape by foot and do it with little effort.

Could I be at the mercy of this winged creature? I stood paralyzed with intimidation. With a growing awareness that I was the focus point of an arsenal of countless pairs of night eyes. All hidden in the spooky vast backdrop of darkness.

The wind howled through the trees. Shadows danced as apparitions all around me. Branches vigorously swaying with leaves whirling about. There was a snap from a nearby tree, a loud clap of thunder and a large branch crashed to the ground not far from me. Overwhelmed, my courage finally failed me. I screamed and ran like the dickens toward the safety of my vehicle. A spontaneous decision that morning came with a price of deluded pride that night. In reality, I was scared of the dark.