Sunday, September 29, 2013
Ms. Riley races through puddles. My leaps fall short of the shaggy edges; my toes are squishy and loose, sloshing in the tops of my sneakers. We round a corner, and are assaulted by discordant shrieks. I clip Ms. Riley into her leash. We pause. In the trail is an injured crow, cawing! head turned to us, and hopping awkwardly down the trail. Caley sits and sniffs the air. The cawing echos through the dripping trees, swirling in the wind with the fog that is filtering through the branches. I shiver as I watch the terrified black form freeze. The crow catches that eye to eye moment with me, as if to ward off threat, as an invitation to kindness.
It suddenly feels too still and just downright eerie.
I turn and ask Ms. Riley to follow. Reluctantly she lets me tug her back round the bend.
We could have been in a grade B movie horror clip, there could have been zombies hidden behind every tree trunk, or a gruesomely tortured animal on the trail ahead sporting a Big Foot imprint embedded in the soft mud beside it.
I don't feel like fighting off a spook today. I find a different trail back to the car. One with sideways rains and open fields and obvious thistles.