She was a small roundish woman of few words; kind but firm and what she said was gospel! Lovingly placing her weathered hands on his small shoulders, she aimed him at the backdoor. Giving him a gentle shove, she quipped, “Now you skedaddle. Grandpa will be finishing milking in a while and I need to fix supper. I’ll call when it’s ready.” Smiling, he ambled out the door onto the porch. Calling after him, she continued, “And don’t forget, your Mom and Dad are coming out tonight.” That would end his summer vacation. He’d be starting the 6th grade in a week or so. He shuddered at the thought.
The slap of the closing screen door reinforced his “Ok, Grandma!” The noise of the door and his shoes on the porch planks unsettled Teddy, the small golden brown terrier who lived under the porch. Tottering out on his short legs, he stuck his wet nose up in Mike’s direction, panted a pant, and gruffed a happy “Ruff!” His dark brown eyes glistened in the late afternoon sun. Turning back to the opening, he shook his body, rearranged his fur, wagged his fluffy tail, and yelped once more as if to say, “Just checking. Now, go about your business.” And with that, he returned to his shady resting spot down under.
Mike jumped from the porch landing in the pathway below. Pausing, he looked left, then right and thought, “Now, which way to go. I can head toward the outhouse or I can check for eggs in the hen house.” He pondered his next move carefully, considering every option. “I know,” he thought, “I’ll explore the west woods. I’ve never done that!” With that, he exited out the front gate into the barnyard.
Turning south, he tromped toward the grove at the top of the hill. As he walked, he adjusted the bib of his overalls and knocked the sand out of his pant cuffs. Passing the woodshed and the saw cradle, he reviewed his week on the farm. It had been a long one. He’d helped Grandpa with milking in the mornings and slopping the hogs up on that same hill. Then, he’d carried logs for the cook stove, cleared old walnuts from under the front tree, gathered eggs both morning and evening, and even gone sand plum picking with Grandma. While she got the good ones cooking, he helped her cull out the bad ones and occasionally stirred the pot for her. By nightfall he was one weary waif.
The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow along the top of the tree line. Passing abandoned farm implements and rusty old trucks, he came upon a convenient entrance. He hesitated. He’d never been in this section of the woods and wasn’t sure what awaited him. But curiosity won out.
Squeezing between fence posts, he stepped around barbed wire to embark on his adventure. The only sounds to be heard were the crunch and crackle of leaves under his steps. Slowly, he made his way through the first fifty feet of trees and underbrush. As he moved, darkness gradually encompassed him. He paused to take it all in. The woods seemed steeped in tranquility.
Ahead he could see stray rays of sunlight piercing through the dense foliage. They beckoned him onward. Pressing forward, the darkness began to recede. Presently, he came upon a clearing. Leaves from previous seasons covered the ground like a thick mantle. There was no hint of any previous explorer. He thought, “I might be the first person to ever walk here.”
Moving toward the center of the clearing, the tree branches and leaves formed a vaulted cathedral-like canopy. Each edge appeared gilded in a kaleidoscope of colors; oranges, greens, browns, crimsons and golds. The woodland floor was textured with a blended palette of burnt sienna and raw umber with striking white-gold highlights. The tree trunks were mere silhouettes casting lengthening shadows whose finger-like branches reached out for him as the sun continued its descent. This wooded sanctuary seemed to foster a golden glow as if he had entered an undisturbed mystical fairyland.
Then, an eerie stillness seemed to engulf him. Imagination took over as he pondered the whereabouts of trolls, elves and fairies. Thoughts of hidden treasure or an undiscovered cabin hiding a mad ogre grazed his mind. The crunching sound of leaves amplified his fears within this golden chamber. Delving deeper into the woodland, an ominous foreboding invaded him. Something had definitely disturbed the stillness. He felt, momentarily, as if he were being watched. Surveying the area he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Mustering his courage, each step diminished his apprehensions as the aura of lights, darks, colors, and sounds enfolded him. The serenity and beauty of his newly discovered “secret place” mesmerized him.
Suddenly, he felt a firm thump on his right shoulder. He stood frozen. His skin seemed to crawl as fear flooded in. His heart raced as his breath halted. “Who . . . who’s there?” he thought, but dare he make a sound? Slowly, cautiously, he ventured to peek over his shoulder. There was no one there, only trees. He felt a perplexing trepidation. “I DID feel something against my shoulder,” he reasoned.
Returning a forward gaze, his eyes set upon an elusive shadow. Fear gripped him . . . but wait. The dark figure glided gracefully through the lower limbs of the trees and, then, with a single flap of its broad wings, evaporated into the distance. It was a large barred owl beginning its evening flight through the twilight. Mike let out a huge sigh of relief as he watched the creature soar into the evening light.
It was a moment of awakening for our young wayfarer. As he wandered back toward the farmhouse Teddy bounded from the bushes to escort him back. At first he didn’t notice his four-legged friend. The majestic beauty of one of God’s creatures had enchanted him. It was as if the touch of the owl’s wing was urging him to embrace a new season. It was a nudge into autumn. Bending down, Mike patted the perky pooch and, together, they meandered back to the house.
By Michael Alumbaugh, © September 2017
