Post by Robert McClister on Dec 31, 2017 20:38:14 GMT -8
It got dark quicker this time of year. It was better that way. Night was usually peaceful. People flocked to the light, and he could roam the dark undisturbed. Where the people went, the noise went. So avoid the people and the light when you wanted peace and quiet.
He put the truck in park, and turned the lights off immeadiately. The hill he picked was a good one. North of the city, with a perfect view. There was a chill on the wind that made him button the hooded jacket up. The only thing his ears could pick up was the breeze moving through the hills.
Robert grabbed the glass container from the front seat and closed the door. He sat on the lowered tailgate. Less than an hour before the new year. He sat cross legged and pried the container open. The warmth and smell hit his nose quickly.
The stew had the last of his venison in it, and he'd have to go hunting soon.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and a cold sensation crawled up his skull. His arm went out instinctively, and the weight and talons he was accustomed to hit and settled. No, something was in one of the owls grips. He shrugged his hood off and looked. Tigue gripped the leather patched area of his forearm with one claw, and held the fresh body of a rat in the other, starting to rip chunks out.
A good shake dislodged the bird from his arm, down to the truck bed.
“I have to eat too.”
He scowled and the large great horned owl.
Tigue ignored him and kept eating.
He reached down into his pocket, remembering the contents of the package that had been waiting for him at the post office. Soda bread, a thick slice wrapped in wax paper. The return address had been from New Orleans. Morgan never forgot about him.
It was appreciated more than she knew.
He smiled widely, and smacked the wrapped bread against the bed of the truck several times. Technically it should have been done at his house, but the spirit of the tradition was intact. Bang the bread to chase the evil spirits away for the year.
The food went down good, paired with the bread. A rustle off to the side made him straighten up. The bandit marked face that emerged from the high grass sniffed the air. The raccoon wandered closer, slowly, searching for the source of the smell. It reached up to Roberts now dangling feet and started to climb his leg.
The raccoon sniffed the empty wrapper and bowl, pushing them away indignantly after finding them empty.
“You're too late man. Sorry.” Robert shrugged at the scruffy critter.
It rubbed it's paws together, setting eyes on the remains of Tigue's dinner.
The owl was having none of it, and puffed it's feathers up. There was a scuffle, and a hiss from the raccoon.
Robert scooted off the tailgate to let them fight it out, and settled on the slope of the hill to watch for the start of the fire works. The lights from the city could be pretty if they didn't pollute the sky and obscure the stars. Down there the city pulsed aritifcial, bright and gaudy, lost in technology and gross ,decadence. Out here the beauty was natural and subtle, blended into the mountains and plant life.
He felt something slither over his hand. He picked it up, and reconized the garter snake in the light of the full moon.
“Four of us now. We got a real party going.”
There was a pop, a loud crack, and a high pitched whistle before a vibrant explosion.
The sound sent the snake up his sleeve, and Robert let it be. Tigue landed on his shoulder, gripping the leather patching there as he did on the forearm. The raccoon wandered up next to him, sniffing the air, and digging in the dirt.
The fireworks had begun, and the show was impressive, even to him. He smiled again.
“New Year. Same shit, different day.”
He put the truck in park, and turned the lights off immeadiately. The hill he picked was a good one. North of the city, with a perfect view. There was a chill on the wind that made him button the hooded jacket up. The only thing his ears could pick up was the breeze moving through the hills.
Robert grabbed the glass container from the front seat and closed the door. He sat on the lowered tailgate. Less than an hour before the new year. He sat cross legged and pried the container open. The warmth and smell hit his nose quickly.
The stew had the last of his venison in it, and he'd have to go hunting soon.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and a cold sensation crawled up his skull. His arm went out instinctively, and the weight and talons he was accustomed to hit and settled. No, something was in one of the owls grips. He shrugged his hood off and looked. Tigue gripped the leather patched area of his forearm with one claw, and held the fresh body of a rat in the other, starting to rip chunks out.
A good shake dislodged the bird from his arm, down to the truck bed.
“I have to eat too.”
He scowled and the large great horned owl.
Tigue ignored him and kept eating.
He reached down into his pocket, remembering the contents of the package that had been waiting for him at the post office. Soda bread, a thick slice wrapped in wax paper. The return address had been from New Orleans. Morgan never forgot about him.
It was appreciated more than she knew.
He smiled widely, and smacked the wrapped bread against the bed of the truck several times. Technically it should have been done at his house, but the spirit of the tradition was intact. Bang the bread to chase the evil spirits away for the year.
The food went down good, paired with the bread. A rustle off to the side made him straighten up. The bandit marked face that emerged from the high grass sniffed the air. The raccoon wandered closer, slowly, searching for the source of the smell. It reached up to Roberts now dangling feet and started to climb his leg.
The raccoon sniffed the empty wrapper and bowl, pushing them away indignantly after finding them empty.
“You're too late man. Sorry.” Robert shrugged at the scruffy critter.
It rubbed it's paws together, setting eyes on the remains of Tigue's dinner.
The owl was having none of it, and puffed it's feathers up. There was a scuffle, and a hiss from the raccoon.
Robert scooted off the tailgate to let them fight it out, and settled on the slope of the hill to watch for the start of the fire works. The lights from the city could be pretty if they didn't pollute the sky and obscure the stars. Down there the city pulsed aritifcial, bright and gaudy, lost in technology and gross ,decadence. Out here the beauty was natural and subtle, blended into the mountains and plant life.
He felt something slither over his hand. He picked it up, and reconized the garter snake in the light of the full moon.
“Four of us now. We got a real party going.”
There was a pop, a loud crack, and a high pitched whistle before a vibrant explosion.
The sound sent the snake up his sleeve, and Robert let it be. Tigue landed on his shoulder, gripping the leather patching there as he did on the forearm. The raccoon wandered up next to him, sniffing the air, and digging in the dirt.
The fireworks had begun, and the show was impressive, even to him. He smiled again.
“New Year. Same shit, different day.”