The lantern defends feebly against the thick, suffocating woods tonight. The wall of noise from the frogs and bugs cannot quite drown out the mountain lion, either, shrieking like some tortured infant on one of those moon-silhouetted hills. He can’t hear me over this din, but maybe he can smell me. I hope not. The dark is fight enough.
Earlier when hiking I saw the wise owl this evening, hooting on a tree branch. Why he was out before dark I do not know, but he must be out now, hunting for small despicable things. We glimpsed each other, earlier, and his wide animal eyes looked right through me. They might be looking right through me now, hunting in me. Maybe that mountain lion can smell my fear and sniff me out, but that hoot-owl does not need to. He can see it in me. He can see it growing fuller in the dark, knowing that I know it too, those fears that creep out of us when we are alone in the dark. Moonlight nourishes anxiety and the dew waters it. The owl is out here hunting still. I thrust the lantern out at the night, and I remember owls only make noise when they want to be heard. I want to hear him, but he is out hunting. Twigs crackle and small animals scurry around. What if I step on a rattlesnake? The night gets warmer and more humid, and I have the urge to remove my sweat-drenched shirt, but the mosquitoes are everywhere. The owl is feasting with his perfect, monstrous eyes; consuming insignificant, despicable things.
FINALLY
AVAILABLE TO THE PUBLIC!
TOMORROW, MARCH 17
THIS ST. PATRICK'S DAY
SAMPLE THE DELIGHTS OF MR. CORRINGTON'S
AMAZING
PAIN-RELIEVING CONCOCTIONS!
TRY THE STUPENDOUS ZYMOLOGICAL
HEALING ELIXIRS
A CERTAIN DEFENSE AGAINST THE TRAVAILS OF THE EVENING
8.30 PM
1200 30TH ST S #12
BIRMINGHAM, AL
(What it might look like)
The lantern defends feebly against the thick, suffocating woods tonight. The wall of noise from the frogs and bugs cannot quite drown out the mountain lion, either, shrieking like some tortured infant on one of those moon-silhouetted hills. He can’t hear me over this din, but maybe he can smell me. I hope not. The dark is fight enough.
Earlier when hiking I saw the wise owl this evening, hooting on a tree branch. Why he was out before dark I do not know, but he must be out now, hunting for small despicable things. We glimpsed each other, earlier, and his wide animal eyes looked right through me. They might be looking right through me now, hunting in me. Maybe that mountain lion can smell my fear and sniff me out, but that hoot-owl does not need to. He can see it in me. He can see it growing fuller in the dark, knowing that I know it too, those fears that creep out of us when we are alone in the dark. Moonlight nourishes anxiety and the dew waters it. The owl is out here hunting still. I thrust the lantern out at the night, and I remember owls only make noise when they want to be heard. I want to hear him, but he is out hunting. Twigs crackle and small animals scurry around. What if I step on a rattlesnake? The night gets warmer and more humid, and I have the urge to remove my sweat-drenched shirt, but the mosquitoes are everywhere. The owl is feasting with his perfect, monstrous eyes; consuming insignificant, despicable things.
