The Old Man Part 1

This was another excercise given to me by my friend Shelly. She is insisting on several more pages of this story, so this will continue on another day. Please feel free to make comments. How would you like this story to go? Let me know!



This crazy thick fog is blinding this morning. It feels so cloying & wet. It’s definitely a bit creepy as it swirls and undulates under its own damp power. I can only imagine if I were claustrophobic there would be a lot more panic and a lot less awe. As it is it is very hypnotic and spellbinding in the sightlessness of it all. Not the best morning for a walk with my glasses on for sure. I can’t even see a few feet in front of me, and that’s after a fresh wipe of my sleeve on them. I’ll just keep one foot in front of the other & try to stay on this old cow trail. Of course there are hundreds of trails on this hillside, all intersecting like a city freeway. I’m sure if I keep myself at an angle I will be to the river in no time. I’ve got to keep my heart rate up and make this a calorie burner, or else what’s the point? It is not a good sightseeing walk for sure.

I wonder how many tourists get lost out here in the fog every summer. I think we loose many more falling off cliffs. Unfortunately we loose quite a few in the surf too. They never seem to realize it’s a different world out here on the coast.

Damn! I’ve wandered onto old man Larson’s place. I sure hope this fog veil is as good of a sound barrier as it is a visual one. If he thinks someone is on his property he will have his shotgun out faster than I could ever run. He has zero tolerance when it comes trespassers, and it makes no difference to him if I’m a lady. I think I’m better off continuing through his land rather than to try backtracking at this point. I’ll just cut through the back here and hope I will be hidden as I go down the hill. Such a strange little place stuck on this wind battered hill. To anyone else who happens to wander near here would assume that this is a long ago abandoned property. It seems the sad ancient one room shack is just waiting for the ground and dry grasses to consume it. How it continues to withstand the wild winters here must be by the old man’s will alone.

There is one wonderfully redeeming part to this old place and that is the 30 or 40 rhubarb plants set around its perimeter. You can’t help but to fantasize about cobblers, jams and sauces over ice cream when you see it. Somebody a long time ago loved rhubarb here. It almost erases the creepiness of Mr. Larson’s ancient wicked face. Almost…. erases that.
I will move a little faster so I won’t have his soulless face my last memory.