The Bookcase

 

There are assorted trinkets placed about the shelves, interrupted by Grisham, Fitzgerald, and lesser-known writers with something to say.

 

The cobwebs stretch across the time I've been absent.  There is no music playing, and that in itself is noticeable.  It's like my being here is disturbing even the quiet.

 

These shelves, to me, are an archeological dig into my time here.  Items, for whatever reason, were important enough at the time but looking at them now they are simply interruptions.  Some wood, a few ceramic.

 

Tied to each one is an emotion, a distant memory of something or someone.  Not always obvious, though one in particular seems to reflect a sadness, something best not remembered.

 

 

Middle C

 

Only if there are four.

My Shadow

 

We have such fun

at hide and seek,

I never cheat -

I never peek.

I turn around

and count to ten,

Then when I look

he's there again.

We laugh and laugh,

his timings great -

It never fails,

he's never late.

My shadow knows

my every thought

Even toys

that I have brought,

Then when I greet

a brand new day,

I find he's left

and gone away.

But he'll be back

with me tonight, 

The moment I

snap on the light.

Every time

he hears that click

He's here beside me

just that quick.

Not Part of the Ride-Share Program

 

and no sense of humor.

The Fox and the Pond

 

In the excitement of chasing the turtle - nipping at him and dancing in circles, Mr. Fox hadn’t noticed just how close to the pond he was getting. 

 

        Larry, although a very slow turtle, had been chased by foxes before.  He knew to keep making his way to the water and he could easily slip down to the bottom of the pond and be safe, for he had never seen a fox at the bottom of the pond.

 

        Watching all of this from two branches up, Wendy Crow flicked her long, black tail and cheered Larry on with raspy caws.

 

        At the water’s edge Larry quickly slipped below the surface, stretched out his legs and swam between the reeds to the safety of the murky bottom. 

 

        Well, you can imagine his surprise at seeing four fox feet paddling just overhead.  He couldn’t believe it.  That crazy fox had followed him into the water and was now trying his best to swim down to the bottom.

 

        Unlike the turtle, however, Mr. Fox couldn’t get himself below the surface.  He floated, no matter how much he kicked and tried to swim, he stayed on the surface of the pond.  He was getting very frustrated and was quickly starting to wear himself out.

 

        Just across the pond swam Nancy and Wanda, two young ducks.  Wanda, at noticing a fox just across the way swimming in circles said to Nancy, “If he learns to swim in a straight line we could be in trouble.”

 

But Nancy didn’t hear Wanda’s comment as she kept plunging headfirst down to the tasty reeds.

 

        Although being entertained by all of this, Wendy Crow noticed a slight look of panic in Mr. Fox.  She soon realized that he wasn’t still trying to chase Larry, he was trying to get back to shore, and wasn’t having any luck.

 

        In her loudest voice ever, Wendy sent out a distress caw.  “Help!  Help!" she cried.

 

        From across the lake the two ducks conferred. 

 

        “What does she expect us to do?” asked Nancy.

 

        “We should do something to help.”  Wanda replied, but Nancy had already dove back down for another bite of food.

 

        Mr. Fox was quickly becoming exhausted.  He was trying hard to keep his head above the water, but his wet heavy fur and his tired legs were slowing him down.

 

        As he was swimming in small circles, every few seconds he could see the close shoreline.   Oh, he thought, if I had only been paying attention I…

 

        But suddenly he didn’t have to swim anymore.  Something was pushing him up out of the water.

 

        His legs were hanging free while some mighty force was pushing up on his stomach.   If he had not been so frightened he would have enjoyed the ride.

 

        Whatever it was, it was helping him back to the shore.  When he was close enough for his feet to touch the bottom, he made a running motion with them.  As his claws dug into the bottom, he quickly pulled himself free and up onto the grass. 

 

        He lay there trying to catch his breath.  He wanted to shake the pond water from his fur, but he was too tired to stand.   The warm sun felt good and soon Mr. Fox was sound asleep.

 

        “That was mighty nice of you.” Wendy said to Larry, as he turned to go back into the pond.

 

        “We have to help each other.” Larry said.  “When it comes right down to it, each other is all we have.  Your part was calling for help.  When I heard the panic in your voice, I knew Mr. Fox wasn’t still chasing me, he was trying to save himself.”

 

        Wendy said, “I didn’t see those two over there helping at all.”

 

        Larry looked over at the two ducks across the pond. 

 

“Some of us help by just staying out of the way.” Larry replied, and with that, he slipped back into the cool pond water and disappeared down to the bottom.

 

        Wendy hopped up to a higher branch.  She was getting hungry for some fresh berries, and really did not want to be hanging around when Mr. Fox finally woke up.

 

        He can just go through life thinking it was a miracle that saved him, she thought, and maybe that’s what miracles are, just everyone helping when and how they can.

 

        Sure enough, as Wendy flew up above the shrubs she spotted Mr. Scarecrow.  He seemed to be pointing towards some fresh, tasty corn.

 

        Now that helps, she thought.

 

 

 

                                                        The End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone very, very smart.

 

Last night I dreamt of a great treasure that fate was sending my way.  I was, however, surrounded by people who were colored by greed and infested with bad intentions.  It felt like I was a plain and simple fish swimming in a tank of sharks and tricksters.

 

I began to question if any such treasure was worth thinking the worst of people.  I didn't even have it yet and it was already effecting who I was and my sleep.  Perhaps, for me, the treasure was my ability to reject it; to hold fast to my own belief that most people are good and decent. 

 

The moment I came to that realization I began to feel better about myself.  No longer was I tossing and turning, trying to get back to sleep.  A great calm came over me and I felt good.

 

That morning, I explained to my wife and children the dream about fate' s plan to deliver a great treasure to me and my realization that I needed to reject it.

 

My wife looked at me with intense disappointment and left the table.  My two girls told me I was lame, insensitive to their needs and was only thinking of myself.  Then they too left the table.

 

As I sat there looking down into my cereal bowl I began to wonder how, when floating in milk, the cereal manages to stay crunchy.  Maybe if I knew how that was possible, I also could float about in riches but still remain steadfast to my principles.

 

What I needed was to seek out someone who was wise.  I was not smart enough to solve this for myself.  While pushing my cereal around with my spoon I tried to think of someone I knew who was very, very smart.

 

Some twenty minutes later I noticed my cereal had sunk to the bottom of the bowl and I was now late for work.

 

 

It wasn't me.

Windows 10

 

Years ago, there was a TV show called Treasure Hunt.  Contestants had to hunt through various boxes to find the treasure.  Back then, people found that to be entertaining.

 

That show must have been a favorite of Microsoft programmers, for as I attempt to find my way around Windows 10, I discover they have hidden key functions in various boxes.  Even the boxes are hidden.  Well-hidden.

 

I grow weary searching for things that in Windows 7 were obvious.  Key functions followed logical thinking, there was a natural progression, but Windows 10 has been designed to include insane configurations.  There are no intersections, only roundabouts and no signs indicating which exit to take. 

 

I expect the rational explanation would be attributed to my age.  I'm old.  If I were 35 years younger, my education would be less, my life experience would be less, and my cognitive inability would be more in line with today’s programmers.

I'm just saying...

Its Not Done Yet

 

    Humans were not given keen senses.  There are many animals who possess a sharp awareness of their surroundings, but humans do not operate at that level.  It is with that in mind that I tell you the following true story.

 

    It was a hot evening in Florida.  The humidity was high, and tempers were short.  Several senior ladies were sitting out on lawn chairs, mostly complaining about how hard life was at their age.  While everyone was talking, and for most of the past hour, Mary never joined in the conversation, but just kept knitting.  Her clicking knitting needles had started to get on everyone’s nerves.

    Louis came outside carrying a tray with a pitcher of fresh lemonade and several glasses filled with ice.  The ladies’ chatter only stopped long enough for each to take a glass and thank Louis.  Mary just kept knitting.

    Finally, Beth said, “I don’t recognize that shape, Mary.  What is it you are knitting?”

    All Mary said, however, was, “It's not done yet.”

    Everyone just let it drop and went on with their talking, until Cloris couldn’t stand it anymore and jumped in with, “That is really an unusual shape, Mary.”  Hoping Mary would then reveal what she was knitting, but that didn’t happen.  She just kept knitting and said, “It's almost finished.”

    What little breeze there was didn’t amount to anything in the way of cooling things off.  The sky was clear, and the moon fell brightly on the group of ladies.  The rest of the community was quiet.

    Without so much as a BOO, a very large alligator came lumbering from between the houses heading towards the group of lawn chairs.  The only sound was coming from its breathing, but somehow it was just enough that it got Mary’s attention.

    “Now it's done,” Mary announced to the group, and took the edges of her knitting and with one swift movement, stood, bent forward, and pulled the long, cylindrical masterpiece over the snout of the gator.

    “It’s a muzzle.” She smiled and sat back down.

 

 

The End

 

The boy who could smell color

 

As a child growing up he never mentioned his unique gift for he had simply assumed everyone could smell the same things. His sister, however, one day mentioned how much she liked the bright yellow on the Volkswagen Beetle they had just walked past and how its vibration felt very calming.

"Do you feel that", she asked Trevor? “I don’t feel anything,” her brother replied, "But it smells sweet, like the frosting on a cake".  Sally gave him an odd look. “Really, you can't feel that”?

By the end of the day, Sally and Trevor had figured out their special abilities. She could feel color, and he could smell it. Neither of them thought they should tell anyone. They both knew how people who were different were treated by the other kids at school.

Over the next several months they both experimented with their newly discovered abilities.  Sally really wanted to document everything in her diary but was concerned her mother might read it someday.  Trevor only ever shared his experiences with Sally.  He never said anything to any of his friends or their parents.

It was the day their class made a field trip to the zoo when Sally tried to see if the animals could also feel color.  Nothing she could come up with, however, let her know what the animals were feeling, so she gave up trying. 

The teacher had explained to her group of children how animals can smell fear.  Trevor instantly wondered if it was truly fear or was it certain colors they were sniffing.  He paid close attention to each animal enclosure he passed, and to every cage, but just like his sister, he couldn’t tell what was going on within the animals.  It was a lost cause trying to figure it out.

Both Trevor and Sally had discovered that their special talents didn’t happen at night, but only during the day.  It made sense that if Trevor couldn’t distinguish different colors at night, that he also couldn’t smell them.  But that wasn’t so with Sally.  Even in the dark she could feel the different vibrations of different colors around her.  She didn’t need to see them in order to feel them.

They both tried to figure out what they could do with this ability.  The most they could come up with was to do magic tricks for their parents and friends, but that would lead to explaining how Sally could tell which color was which in the dark, but they couldn’t do that.  That would let everyone know how different they were.

The following year a new teacher showed up at their school.  He taught science class and seemed very friendly.  He didn’t seem like just another teacher, standing up at the chalkboard droning on and on.  He appeared to really care about the kids.  So much so that Sally and Trevor felt comfortable in sharing their special abilities with him. 

One Friday, after class, both Trevor and Sally stayed after to talk with Mr. Lyman.  They were anxious to tell someone, and so far, he seemed like the safest one to tell.

Mr. Lyman listened intently as the kids explained what they thought to be very special gifts.  Sally explained about the different vibrations according to color, and Trevor told him about the aromas that each color seemed to have.  They even told him about their trip to the zoo, and how they never could come up with a test to try on the animals.  All they knew for sure was that at night Trevor couldn’t smell any of the colors, but Sally could still feel them.

Mr. Lyman sat quietly for a few minutes thinking about what the children had told him.   Finally, Trevor said, “Well, what do you think”?

Mr. Lyman stood up and walked over to his briefcase.  He pulled a book out and came back to his desk.  “I enjoy two things, science, and history.  They pretty much go hand and hand.  There have been many accounts of strange events and occurrences throughout history that science cannot explain.  Even with the passing of time, and the advancement of technology, things remain a mystery.”

He flipped through several pages in his book and finally stopped on the page he was looking for.   Looking back at Sally and Trevor he said, “Your unique abilities are indeed rare, but not altogether new.  

There are only a few documented reports of colors emitting vibrations and certain smells.  The yellow paint that was used on the Volkswagen you talked about, has been known to attract bees.  Not just because it might resemble something in nature, but because of the vibrations it sends off.   And certain color paints cause a calming effect on people, not just because of the visual, but because of its scent.”

Sally interrupted, “But why us?  How did my brother and I end up with this?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that.  I do, however, strongly suggest you keep this to yourselves.  I wouldn’t tell anyone else.  Your first instinct to keep it a secret was a good one.  Nobody needs to know this and nothing good will come from exposing yourselves to scrutiny.”

Sally and Trevor are now grown and quietly living their lives.  Neither has ever shared their secret with anyone.

The only unexplained mystery is that the junior high school that Sally and Trevor attended has no record of a Mr. Lyman ever teaching there, and nobody remembers him.

 

 

The End

Time Traveler

 

I met Zobostic when I was passing through.  He was actually a close friend.  Long before he started this blog he was writing stories, articles for the newspaper, and plays.  He just seemed to love words.

We climbed mountains, hiked through forests, and flew planes, even though they were made out of paper.  We built race cars and would compete against each other. There were never any losers. 

I tend to smile like this whenever I think of him.

I better get going...

 

Destine to never meet, and yet – here we are again, you there and me here.  What’s to become of us?  We eat different foods, go to different places.  We have none of the same friends.  Unless, of course, you know Larry.

Larry’s the one always in trouble.  If there is something broken, odds are, he broke it.  If something stupid was said, trust me - it was him.  And he knows everyone, done everything.  You can’t tell him anything.  Larry’s always the expert.

I think Larry was always destined to be a salesman.  Not a good one, but a salesman none the less.  I know he tried everything from used cars to cleaning products.  He always told you what you wanted to hear.  The truth could have snuck up and bit him before he ever recognized it.   I’m not sure that’s a real saying, I just know he wasn’t very familiar with the truth.

How did you get me talking about him, anyway?  When you think about it, he’s not that nice of a person.  Many walk the other way when they see him coming.  He doesn’t really bother me.  I just start telling him about my blog, and I can see this glazed look come over him, and he starts giving me excuses why he can’t stay.  He has this pressing appointment he must get to.

“OK, I’ll see you later.”

Price Check - Aisle 7

 

I wonder just how many impulse items I've bought in my lifetime.  What was it that was so important, and where is it today?

Every now and then I get an impulse to throw something away.  I never seem to miss whatever it was.

Various impulses have gotten me in trouble before.  I remember filling out a medical form in my doctor's office.  Not only did I answer all the questions but went through and corrected his spelling and grammar as well.   Not really a smart thing to do (before) the examination.

I was wearing a white shirt, black pants and dress shoes.  I heard the announcement in the supermarket for a price check on aisle 7. My initial impulse was to head to aisle 7 and give whoever it was a price.  I mean, how hard can it be?  It doesn't matter that I didn't work there, it just sounded like a fun thing to do.

When I turned to head down the aisle, I saw a young stock-boy holding a box of macaroni, a mother with three small children climbing around her and her shopping cart.  She looked frazzled.   The stock boy looked confused.   I noticed he was holding the only box that didn't have a price sticker on it.  I looked back at the shelf and saw they were $1.49   I told him the price and then told him to help her with her cart full of groceries, and to help load them in her car if she wanted assistance.

I felt good as I walked away.  I had done my good deed for the day, and no one was the wiser.

 

Groggy Time

 

    It felt like it was still pretty early. I rolled over and squinted at the digital clock. It said, 3 5 9.

    Good, I thought, I can lay here another minute. I won't get up until it says 360.

    I closed my eyes and rolled back over, but something seemed wrong. Something was nagging at me. Was there some reason I needed to be up before 360?

    I tried to think of what it was I had scheduled for today. Nothing was coming to mind.

    Now I wondered how long I had been laying here thinking about this. If I look back at the clock it should still be only 360 something. Surely another few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

    Wait a minute…

    There is no such thing as 360.  If there was, then there could be a 380, and 395.  What’s going on with my brain?  What time is 395?

 Some things may not really be Blog worthy,
but they're true.  Apparently I was a little groggy
this morning.

 

Just when you thought it was safe

 to go out to your mailbox...

You discover they know where you live.

The mustache & glasses didn't fool them.

Sanding off your fingerprints didn't help.

Walking backwards through the snow
didn't put them on the wrong track.

Changing aftershave didn't throw them
off the scent.

Not using credit cards, and spending
only loose change for everything was
a lost cause, and very annoying to everyone.

Filling out that change of address card
was a mistake.

 

Symbolic or...

 

    So what is the significance of graduates tossing their caps into the air? Could it be as simple as a declaration of freedom? A demonstrated sigh of relief having finished school, or is it something deeper?

    Could it be rebellious students protesting gravity? After all, many students blame gravity for keeping their grades down. I know for a fact that a certain percentage of the student body sights gravity as the reason their basketball team finished so poorly, and for the strange disappearance of their school mascot, Helium Boy.

    I'm almost sure gravity is behind the defiant act of cap tossing, and the day their caps no longer come floating back down will be the day they have secured their place in history.

It's A Process

 

Fitting letters together from the alphabet lets me build words. Assembling words allows me to create sentences. With enough sentences I can make a paragraph. Once I start stacking paragraphs together, eventually I'll have a page, and with enough pages, a story can form.  If I can stretch the story from cover to cover, I'll have a book. Now I've stretched this about as far as I can.

 

The End

OH yes, with enough books I can build a library.  With my own library, I'd be an ex-president.  As an ex-president I could travel around the country giving speeches.  Eventually there would be enough speeches to fill a book.

Now it's the end.

I miss my pencil

 

There are strangers sitting at faraway desks, creating these computer programs that we use.  It is our job, without the aid of telepathy, to determine how they all work.

Where do I find…

How can I set this as a default…

What happens if I do this…

Where did it go…

How do I get it back…

OK, what just happened…

There’s some bad Juju here…

 

Turns out the Moon is flat, like a disk or Frisbee

 

Aren’t you glad I don’t use those stupid attention-grabbing headlines that are so prevalent on the Internet?  I mean, really, how dumb do you have to be?

 

Now back to our regularly scheduled post.

    As many of you know, I never use this blog to gripe or complain.  I simply jabber on about things I discover along the margins of life.  Yesterday, someone reminded me about my issue with the Nature channel.  I will go into a little detail here, but keep in mind, I’m not complaining, only commenting on what I see, and how utterly stupid I think it is.

    This seems to happen every time, without fail.  The camera shows a colorful field of wildflowers, swaying in a gentle breeze.  Along the edge sits a little bunny munching on a tender leaf.

    Then, as the camera zooms back, we see a small cloud of dust.  It is being kicked up by a bobcat running full speed, the little bunny in his sights.

    I can’t remember a time when they’ve ever filmed a herd of gazelles or antelope without showing the slowest of the group being taken down by some chomping set of muscle-bound jaws.  

    And don’t give me, it’s the circle of life garbage.  It can be a part of Nature without becoming a part of our entertainment.  I don’t see your local supermarket showing the rotten fruit and vegetables whenever they film their commercials.

    OK, now I hear myself.  This sounds really close to complaining.  And I know, all I need to do is turn it off, which I do.

    Now, Death of a Salesman I’d watch.  As long as the salesman was one of those guys selling Nature films to the network.

OK, I'll stop.

Medical Marvels

  

With all of the warnings about tobacco and its various uses, you’d think the grasshopper would have been extinct years ago.  Although I don’t recall there ever being an autopsy on a grasshopper.  Even as a child, I remember them spitting tobacco at me.  Nasty little creatures, and yet they survive.

Maybe the medical community should take a much closer look at the insect world.  Their immune system could reveal important factors that may be adaptable to humans.  I’ve never heard a roach sneeze.  Are all bugs immune to Man’s afflictions?  No centipede polio, no ant arthritis?  Perhaps this is a size thing.  We stand upright, with our heads in an entirely different layer of atmosphere than our friends on the ground.

Just as the ocean has various layers of temperatures running through it, our air must have streams of catchy diseases that never make it to ground level.   If we were even taller, the bird flu might be more prevalent.

Entomology should be the highest priority within our space exploration program.  Searching for intelligent life needs to start at ground level.  Listening for sneezes would be a good place to start.

 

Chemistry

 

    I’ve heard it said that in outer space, away from earth’s gravity, various things can be blended together that cannot mix here on earth.  Different metals can be formed, making stronger or more flexible materials.

    Heavy liquids, not being subjected to gravity, no longer sink to the bottom, but mix easily with lighter components.   One example of this would be the little-known secret of Head & Shoulders shampoo.  Chemists have designed their formula to have the dandruff generating portion sink to the bottom of the container, so by the time you get to the end of the shampoo, your dandruff returns, and you need to buy another bottle.  Deceptive practices like this are avoided on the space station.  There is no astronaut dandruff.

    Early American chemists had great success when blending simple jelly with certain types of beans, resulting in the ever-popular jellybeans.

    Setting up labs and factories on Mars and other remote locations is not that far-fetched.  Based on what we sort-of know, our building materials and civilization in general will be quite different from what we can even imagine.   Even today, some authors are mixing metaphors that defy gravity.

 

Default Settings

 

    I’d like to set some things in my life to default.  No longer would I have to, once again, declare plastic over paper at the supermarket.  They would see me, and automatically know plastic is fine for this customer.  They could also eliminate all the choices at the gas pump.  No, this guy never pays for premium.  He can get to the same places on regular.

    Wouldn’t it have been grand, if during my working life, every job interview had skipped right to the hiring process, and avoided that whole conversation about lack of experience, rap sheets, and time served?

    Default settings could do wonders for the medical community, as well.   No longer would we have to fill out the same lengthy forms, answer the same lame questions, or go over the tiresome health history, again and again.  One quick eye scan as we enter the building, and there we are.  Charts automatically completed, history noted, and co-pays waived.  (Yes, I altered that last bit).

    Which leads to viruses and hacking.  A hacking cough is acceptable, but computer hacking may be the fly in the ointment for this whole default system.  OK, now that I think about it… Default settings may not be the way to go.  Maybe I’ll just keep saying, “Yes, plastic bags are fine.  Thank you.

 

I am the trinket

 

I am floating alone in this tiny raft in this massive ocean.  The night sky appears to stretch beyond its borders, with more stars than one could ever count.  It is only the daylight hours that push down upon me.  The bright sunlight bakes me dry, and hurts my skin.  The absence of sound is deafening.  It is only my heart beat keeping the conversation going. 

The ocean treats my raft as a toy, to be bounced about, playing it's game of keep-away with death.  I am the prize at the bottom of the cereal box.   Various creatures swim just below the surface, like awaiting fingers trying to reach the prize, bouncing and shaking the box, in hopes I pop out, but I tightly hang on. 

Even though nighttime hours are cooler to my skin, the blackness of the water has with it a current of fear that I hate.  I should try to sleep now.  The water gently lapping against the raft is soothing, but it is my fear keeping me awake.  Maybe I'll count more stars, while hoping an errant wave doesn't flip me over.  Leave it to the devil to open the box from the bottom.

Stormy

 

She was the terror of the playground.  Without warning she would sweep across, knocking over bullies, scaring adults, and never giving in to barometric pressure of any kind.

 

Stormy was an Ill wind that blew no good.  She was often cold, never bothering to look back at the damage she had caused.  Her thunder was mighty, with a temper that was lightning quick.  Sometimes dark and brooding, she'd just hang around, waiting and watching.  Often striking without provocation. 

 

She was an only child, spoiled at an early age, and as most predicted, turned into a little whirlwind, throwing tantrums and trailer parks around like they were nothing.   And never be fooled by her tears.  Whenever she turned on the waterworks, havoc ran through the streets.  No one was safe.

 

Everyone knew her, some feared her, but all were glad when she left.  Her name would linger in conversations, and the memory of her seemed to last forever.  Like I said, she was a spoiled little brat that no one ever liked, but once she was gone, it was as if the sun came out of hiding and wanted us to think it had been there all along.

Three Things

 

    There are three things I wish I were smart enough to figure out.  The first is time travel.  How amazing would that be?   Completely understanding all aspects of physics, earth's and all other gravitational forces, and all physical and mental limitations with respect to the effects on humans.

     The second would be smart enough to know which direction to travel,  forward or back, and, third, having the knowledge and wisdom to know if I even should.

      Failing all that, I'll simply stay here and putz around with this blog.

    That's it for now.
    This is ZC, from inside the box.

Run and Hide

 

    It appeared as a husk, a thick covering from some type of fruit.  I obviously was not at all familiar with it.  The thing that caught my attention was its underside appeared to be moving, as if alive. 

    Certainly, no fruit I ever heard of.  If it were an animal hide, what possibly could it have been?  I wanted to pick it up for a closer look, but I dared not touch it.  Whatever it was moving around just under the skin I didn’t want moving around on me.  I wanted to snap a picture, a close-up, if possible, but my phone was out of juice.

          If I had something to put it in, I’d carry it back with me.  It is possible someone else might recognize it right off and tell me what it was I had discovered.  At least I should mark this location.  If I can’t take it with me, at least I should be able to find this spot again.  I bent down once more to have a final look and that’s when I noticed the smell.  Now, I really wasn’t sure if it was part of an animal or rotting fruit.  Yikes!  I’d have that smell to remember for some time.

          Why, I thought, hadn’t I smelled it the first time I leaned over to look at it?  Was it decomposing right before my eyes?  Then again, if it were rotting, why weren’t there flies or ants crawling about?  Nature cleans up her own messes.  What was different about this?  If this were a hide, then what happened to the animal it's from?  Something larger must have torn the thing apart, and if that’s the case, maybe I shouldn’t be hanging around here at all.

    What was that?...