First gravel hill is very steep, starting slow.
I hear the always barking neighbor dog.
I pass the only two houses on this drive.
Last is a rental log cabin, no one there.
Gravel turns to badly eroded dirt.
A dead locust fallen across the road –
bark falling off to expose larvae, ants, and beetles
for the grand red crowned pileated woodpecker.
One green patch of ferns unfurling ends
like a tail feathers of a duck.
Deep rut where fire truck slid off into ditch.
It never made it to the fire up top.
Off grid camping trailer burned weeks ago.
Days of rain and dead still wind saved the
surrounding mountains and homes.
I walk slowly, stopping frequently
to scan the woods for mountain lions.
I heard them here three past nights.
I am tense. Two brothers attacked
two days ago in Northern California.
21 year old died, 17 year old survived.
Half way to the top, the barking, filtered
by still bare trees, has faded to silence.
No wind in the trees, no birds chirping,
no chipmunks rustling dead leaves, no color
except gray tree trunks and soggy brown undergrowth.
Chernobyl’s eerie desolation sweeps over me.
Corner of my eye catches a shadow.
Grim Reaper ducking behind a tree?
I walk slowly, carefully not to crack a twig.
Creeping forward like a hunter stalking prey –
or prey stalking hunter. Are those voices?
Scanning for the grim reaper hiding behind a tree.
A bitter taste of fear on my tongue – hyper-alert.
I reach the top. Three torn tents remain standing,
still containing food, blankets and stench.
Nothing has changed since the fire.
Examining the burned trailer more carefully –
only twisted rusted metal and ash remain.
Dog vertebrae poke out of ash.
Disturbed to not see the second burned dog bones,
scan continues 360 degree for lion and
AK47 crazy neighbor that might shoot me –
my hand on 380 pistol in jacket pocket.
Straining for any sound. There is none.
I can’t stay here any longer.
I have to leave now.
Quickly and quietly I walk
back down the dirt road, still looking
in all directions for the reaper’s shadow.
What happened here?
A fight, meth, recklessness?
Who were these people?
What kind of people don’t return
to bury their dogs’ bones?
—
Terry VanNatta is a mechanical engineer retired from designing John Deere Equipment. He has been a competitive distance runner for 50 years with world rankings from 5k to marathon. He is currently a running coach, artist, poet, blueberry farmer, master gardener, commercial pesticide applicator.
