07-23-2016, 06:43 PM
As the stinging-snow continued to come in sideways and the road was lost again
from sight, Ninurta dug-in deep and put another foot in front of the next.
The last vehicle to pass had been an hour ago and it's tracks had been quickly
swallowed up by the snowstorm that the weather-boys assured the solitary bearded
man making his way home, would not be here until the day after his birthday.
Somewhere ahead, people were clinking glasses and chatting about fond memories
of the stoic man they were waiting for, but here in the white-out, Ninurta had ony one
thought on his mind.
It was about the thing he was sure that had been following him.
Ninurta tilted his head and even though the roaring blizzard seemed to grab any sounds
and tear them away, the craggy woodsman heard the faint crumping sound of heavy
footfalls behind him.
It was still there.
It was his birthday and he knew in his heart that the gifts his friends had waiting for him,
could never outshine this snow-wrapped award he was enjoying right now.
Maybe this would seem to be crude to some with the idea that he was dismissing the
tributes from his friends and loved-ones, it wasn't meant that way...it was just his way.
Ninurta was from another time when the honing of a skill was an exercise that brought it's
own rewards, an accolade that meant more than any bow-wrapped bauble.
Even as the snow swirled around him, he smiled in his hedonism and picked up the pace.
He would give it another minute before he dropped away from the road and try his hand
in the darkness of the forest. If the stranger behind him was who he thought he was, then
the change in direction would favour the steady plodding intruder.
Which would make it more interesting.
Through a tangled mat of hair, the Sasquatch scanned the desolate forest floor for the
human that lived on the mountain. This would be the fifth time the huge beast had followed
this particular individual home and I would suggest that he was not quite sure why.
He was different, the wild-man knew that. Somewhere in the complex thought processes
of identifying animals, seeking good terrain and the using art of elusiveness, the Bigfoot
had felt some weird kind of affinity with the loner.
A loner that somehow had disappeared.
The thin layer of snow bore no footprints and under the high conifers, the needles hadn't
been disturbed. The Sasquatch sniffed the cold air for the man's spoor and grunted softly
at the lack of scent.
Standing almost ten feet and being able to walk thirty miles in a day, the furry biped was
at a loss at how the human had escaped him, it just didn't make sense. The broad beast
were just about to turn when the Bigfoot felt the hand on his shoulder and he froze.
'Don't turn around fella...' Ninurta said softly from his place in the tree, '...I just wanna let you
know that I'm grateful' he added cryptically and began to descend to the ground.
........................
The furry slippers were grand and the box of chocolates that the kids had left were now half
-eaten as Ninurta sat in front of the fire-hearth and smiled into the flames. The party had been
a good one and now, everyone had gone home and Grace was fast asleep.
Striking a kitchen match on the leg of his pants, he stoked-up the cigar someone had given
him earlier and pondered what had happened out there in the woods. The fire was attempting
to make him drowsy and he shook his long-maned head to ward off the slumber elves.
The creature had been out-witted again and even though Ninurta had done it three times,
tonight was the first time he actually made contact with it. Rising from his chair, he wondered
if the Sasquatch would return to the lonely road ever again.
The damp work-coat hung on a hook near the front door and with a quick glance around to
make sure he was alone, Ninurta reached into the pocket nearest him and plucked the item
that he had accepted for his talent of being a Woodsman.
It was a man, a stick man made from willow and bound with a tooth-softened thong of deer pelt.
The vines that covered the body section only grew in the top-most part of the mountain and the
small white stone lodged within was an opal with small shards of seashells embedded in it's
surface. Ninurta guessed the agate was from somewhere east.
'Happy Birthday' he mumbled to himself and showing a rare grin of kindeness, he placed the
gift back into the coat pocket. The snow was easing and he wondered again whether the brute
would be there tomorrow night.
It was a Woodsman-thing.
All the best, my friend.
from sight, Ninurta dug-in deep and put another foot in front of the next.
The last vehicle to pass had been an hour ago and it's tracks had been quickly
swallowed up by the snowstorm that the weather-boys assured the solitary bearded
man making his way home, would not be here until the day after his birthday.
Somewhere ahead, people were clinking glasses and chatting about fond memories
of the stoic man they were waiting for, but here in the white-out, Ninurta had ony one
thought on his mind.
It was about the thing he was sure that had been following him.
Ninurta tilted his head and even though the roaring blizzard seemed to grab any sounds
and tear them away, the craggy woodsman heard the faint crumping sound of heavy
footfalls behind him.
It was still there.
It was his birthday and he knew in his heart that the gifts his friends had waiting for him,
could never outshine this snow-wrapped award he was enjoying right now.
Maybe this would seem to be crude to some with the idea that he was dismissing the
tributes from his friends and loved-ones, it wasn't meant that way...it was just his way.
Ninurta was from another time when the honing of a skill was an exercise that brought it's
own rewards, an accolade that meant more than any bow-wrapped bauble.
Even as the snow swirled around him, he smiled in his hedonism and picked up the pace.
He would give it another minute before he dropped away from the road and try his hand
in the darkness of the forest. If the stranger behind him was who he thought he was, then
the change in direction would favour the steady plodding intruder.
Which would make it more interesting.
Through a tangled mat of hair, the Sasquatch scanned the desolate forest floor for the
human that lived on the mountain. This would be the fifth time the huge beast had followed
this particular individual home and I would suggest that he was not quite sure why.
He was different, the wild-man knew that. Somewhere in the complex thought processes
of identifying animals, seeking good terrain and the using art of elusiveness, the Bigfoot
had felt some weird kind of affinity with the loner.
A loner that somehow had disappeared.
The thin layer of snow bore no footprints and under the high conifers, the needles hadn't
been disturbed. The Sasquatch sniffed the cold air for the man's spoor and grunted softly
at the lack of scent.
Standing almost ten feet and being able to walk thirty miles in a day, the furry biped was
at a loss at how the human had escaped him, it just didn't make sense. The broad beast
were just about to turn when the Bigfoot felt the hand on his shoulder and he froze.
'Don't turn around fella...' Ninurta said softly from his place in the tree, '...I just wanna let you
know that I'm grateful' he added cryptically and began to descend to the ground.
........................
The furry slippers were grand and the box of chocolates that the kids had left were now half
-eaten as Ninurta sat in front of the fire-hearth and smiled into the flames. The party had been
a good one and now, everyone had gone home and Grace was fast asleep.
Striking a kitchen match on the leg of his pants, he stoked-up the cigar someone had given
him earlier and pondered what had happened out there in the woods. The fire was attempting
to make him drowsy and he shook his long-maned head to ward off the slumber elves.
The creature had been out-witted again and even though Ninurta had done it three times,
tonight was the first time he actually made contact with it. Rising from his chair, he wondered
if the Sasquatch would return to the lonely road ever again.
The damp work-coat hung on a hook near the front door and with a quick glance around to
make sure he was alone, Ninurta reached into the pocket nearest him and plucked the item
that he had accepted for his talent of being a Woodsman.
It was a man, a stick man made from willow and bound with a tooth-softened thong of deer pelt.
The vines that covered the body section only grew in the top-most part of the mountain and the
small white stone lodged within was an opal with small shards of seashells embedded in it's
surface. Ninurta guessed the agate was from somewhere east.
'Happy Birthday' he mumbled to himself and showing a rare grin of kindeness, he placed the
gift back into the coat pocket. The snow was easing and he wondered again whether the brute
would be there tomorrow night.
It was a Woodsman-thing.
All the best, my friend.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.