...my stroll today...not me...well, maybe sometimes...a little.
Yesterday was October 1st. The first day of my favorite month of the year. I decided one of my mellowing walks was in order, so I grabbed the camera and set out. I've been spending a lot of time down by the marsh, so I decided to head the other way. Back towards Stephen King trail and feral cat territory. I started by skirting the edge of the...can't remember what Glenn calls it. Hang on a sec. (venturing into the living room) He says it's a tidal "crick" ('creek' to the people residing outside of the southern states)...empty when the tides out, and full when the tides in. I have two separate terms for the two states of our "crick". When the tides out, it's the "mud flat". When the tides in, it's the "lagoon". It has that "lagoon" feel. Kind of like on Gilligan's Island. The water takes on an earthy green color. Plus, I just dig that word. Lagoon. Since the tide was out, I skirted the edge of the mud flat.
The reeds are pretty thick and high at the moment. Appropriately on the first day of October, the air was much cooler than the temperatures we had before that ranged in the 90's. A slight breeze was blowing playfully through the leaves and Spanish moss, and rustled faintly through the reeds. We had a couple of days of rather heavy rain a day or two ago, and the ground was still a tad soft. I don't know if I can articulate properly how it was quiet but not quiet. Quiet in the sense that there weren't any sirens or car horns. No helicopters sounding like they were going to land on me. No loud music pumping so loud I felt like I was getting a heart massage from down the street. The sound was...right. Natural. Yeah, I could hear someone talking here and there, or here the dull clang of a pan in someones kitchen, but those sounds weren't dominating everything. They didn't feel like an intrusion. They were just signs of life. Like the rustling of the reeds. The flap of wings as a heron who was hunting for food in the mud became startled and decided to find another spot where there were no disturbances. The giggles and unintelligible calls of children riding their bikes past the front of the nearest building. Sounds, yes, but no cacophonous din assaulting my ears. Just cool, calm, and moody...in an extremely good way.
Walking this route, I came across what I call the "Blair Witch stones". This is the route I took on a previous walk I took last year where I first encountered this strange grouping of rocks. This time was a bit different as there wasn't the same amount of foliage growing around them. It looked as though our grounds crew had done some clearing, so the stones were completely exposed this time. I discovered that they weren't just the odd stones I initially saw that looked like someone had just stuck them there. What I learned this time is that they weren't your average stones. They're grave markers. I was looking at a pet cemetery. "Punkie". "Lil Girl". "Tigger". There were more than half a dozen stones there with pet names and dates chiseled into them. There was one odd stone that didn't match the others. It had a dog bone shaped collar charm glued to it. I didn't examine it closely, so I don't know who was laid to rest there. There was something touching yet creepy about my discovery. I snapped a couple of photos and turned to see I was being watched. A jet black cat sat stone still at the base of a tree next to the mud flat's edge. He didn't seem tense. Didn't coil, ready to dash away as I approached. I made no move to walk up to him. Just kept moving slowly along the top of the bank...about ten feet away. He just watched me. Warily. Was he a relative? Did he have a family member lying at rest among those tiny graves? I decided to talk to him. Just let him know that everything was cool and that I was just passing by. I did decide to take his picture. He flinched a little at the whirring sound the camera makes when I turned it on, but it only lasted a moment. He relaxed again and continued watching me. The first picture I snapped was sans flash. The second was with the flash, and he didn't appear to appreciate that one. He/she shot me a glare and took off toward the building, passing in front of me. I got off one of his departure. They vanished into some bushes.
I had reached the end of the last building before the bit of forest housing Stephen King trail. After snapping the last picture I took of 'Blackie', the camera had let me know the batteries needed to be switched, so I set about doing that. I heard something off to my right. In the reeds. A rustle...then the crunch of small footfalls. Turning my head to scope out what it was, I caught the movement of something relatively small and close to the ground disappearing into the reeds. I could make out the creatures path by the swaying and dancing of the reed tops. The batteries had been refreshed, so I waited with my camera at the ready in hopes of catching whatever it was. Nothing exited the cover of reeds. Then I looked down. Something was moving around at the base of the bank just below a tree root. It was a small fuzzy raccoon. It noticed me about the time I noticed it, and it raised up on it's hind legs regarding me with a wary curiosity. We stood there looking back at one another for a minute. Then I remembered I had a camera with me, and seized the moment. I slowly moved in a bit closer to get a better shot. Surprisingly enough the little masked critter didn't bolt. He was coiled like a spring, ready to bound into the cover of reeds at a moments notice, but he stayed put. Even after I flashed off a pic he stayed still. I thanked him and turned and slowly departed. After a few steps I turned and looked back. He was gone.
The bit of forest that houses Stephen King trail isn't of any impressive size. Just big enough to contain some trails that I feel the need to explore. One day. I did notice during yesterday's walk some signs of a fort on the other side of the mud flat down at the end. (The tidal "crick" is a dead end.) It reminded me of my younger years and how my friend's and I would build forts in the forest. I grew up living in apartment complexes for the most part (in Georgia), so there was always ample forest/trails to escape into/down. We'd get pretty creative with our scavenging and building. Anyway, I saw the signs of that fort and thought they might not want an intruder. I had walked into the trees and down the portion of the trail on this side of the flat before, and it stops at a creek. It appears to continue on the other side, but I had visions of water moccasins or other types of slimy poisonous swamp inhabitants lurking around...made me think better of it. I may get brave one day and take that plunge, but will at least save it for when I have a companion to go with me. As for why I call it "Stephen King" trail, there are two reasons: 1) it's dim and creepy; 2) named it after another dim and creepy trail from my college day's. As I passed the opening to SK trail, I could hear male voices in unintelligible conversation floating out on a breeze. Seems the owner's of the fort were meeting.
Next to the SK trail forest is the land of the feral cat. It mainly consists of a huge area covered by weeds and vines that create a canopy for the wild felines. I've ranted about them before, and know that if I talk about them too much another rant will surface...I'll strive to make this quick. Depending on the time of day, there are either a number of cats hanging around (mainly for the food a couple of old ladies that live here give them...uh oh...prime seed for a rant), or one or two. I would guess that they're 'lookouts'. What are they looking out for? I suspect people and raccoons. On a certain level they seem to have joined forces with the raccoons in the food scavenging department. On a regular basis I would see a whole band of 'coons rooting around in our trash masher with a cat or two standing sentry. Now that the condos have put a new cover on there (I hate it...the door handle has a heavy spring on it, and there isn't any ventilation...every time I open the door to toss my trash in, I get hit in the face with a blast of warm and stinky air), they have no way of getting to the 'goodies'. It appears that this development has prompted the old broads to put out more food, more frequently. I spotted a lot of empty black trays from microwave dinners littering the ground. There were lots of those, but no sign of cats. As I rounded the corner of the cat kingdom, I spotted a furry form. It didn't budge. I was approaching slowly, but the cat still made no sign of moving. I looked a little closer and saw a green eye watching me (seemingly non-plussed) between some blades of grass. I was glad to see that he had a pulse. Finding a lifeless animal would have sucked the enjoyment out of my walk. Then I thought he might be sick, but as soon as that occurred to me he sat up and seemed full enough of energy. So I took his picture and moved on. After that I headed back in the direction of home, and enjoyed the cool evening. Saw some birds flying overhead (herons, and some sort of predatory bird...Glenn said it was probably an eagle), saw several kids on bikes (which made me want to get the bike I have fixed up for riding), and heard the sound of a jazz band in what could have only been a practice session. Couldn't make out which direction the music was coming from. Whatever they were playing it was a bit rough, but they sounded like there was some talent involved.
When I got back home I felt...relaxed, but infused with the energy of autumn. Other fans of the season will know what I mean. It wasn't really a long walk, but I experienced the first day of October on it's natural turf. I do love this time of year...
Guess I'll get to dinner now. Smothered pork chops and potatoes au-gratin.
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