Karl (louderback) wrote,

Taxes and snakes

Today's Lyric:
Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward, the sailors cry
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye

Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunder clouds rend the air;
Baffled our foe's stand on the shore
Follow they will not dare

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep
Ocean's a royal bed
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
Watch by your weary head
Skye Boat Song
Sir Harold Boulton

Recently Played Songs:
         Went back to H&R Blockheads. The woman who looked at my return just shook her head and threw it away. I brought in, at the preparer's request, my real estate taxes. It turns out that not only am I not eligible for that deduction but that I need not file at all this year. I didn't have enough income.

         That, at least was worth knowing. I won't file again unless the laws change or my income alters.

         Lunch/Dinner today was a hand-made pizza. We made an extra crust and are freezing it to see how that works. If it goes well, I will prepare and freeze several crusts. I will have my own better than store-bought frozen pizzas on hand.

         I'm watching the new Robin Hood series. It is OK so far, but I have misgivings. It may take a while to find its feet if it succeeds at all.

         Not ambitious tonight, that's all.

In the deep, in the dark in the woods, there is a place where nobody goes. In the forest, everything, can hear you scream. In the back of the woods where trees grow close and light never reaches the ground there is a cave of sorts, formed of living trees who huddle together and arch over a deep black hole that descends into the earth. From that hole, eyes sometimes glitter in torchlight with a look that hungers for the world above.

To this place we came, we three. It was an accident. Not in our wildest moments would we have dared this place. Still, being there, we goaded one another, three boys too concerned with our images, with our bravery, with our seeming manliness to back away from a place unnatural to its literal roots. In the face of all reason, we descended. The steps were narrow, shallow, and not nearly deep enough even for our small feet. It was as though the builders were children — smaller than children. We intended to go only a few feet, but found ourselves drawn on by some indistinct urge. We found a burning torch perhaps thirty or forty yards down. We took heart from this, though it never occurred to us we should wonder who had lit it. Light wavering before us we nudged and prodded each other downward until we truly began to fear. Our jibes dropped to whispers then to silence. Still we continued downward. A soft rustle as of leaves stopped us in our tracks.

Paused with a sense of dire imminence we waited for we knew not what. Not long in coming, we saw the reflection of eyes. Those eyes froze us in place. They were chill, reptilian, heartless. They were low, half our height, and they advanced slowly. The form behind them was only vaguely seen. It seemed like a man, a little bald man, a baby even, but with those lifeless eyes. It moved closer. I trembled, frozen, unable to retreat, though every nerve in my body demanded I flee. Suddenly, one of my companions, none of us know which, it might have even been myself, hoarsely croaked, "Hundreds! There are hundreds of eyes!"

That was enough to break the spell. Dashing the torch to the ground, we fled upward. Stumbling, falling repeatedly, bashing our shoulders, our heads against the narrow confines of that stair. Smashing our knuckles when we stumbled to our knees we never slowed. Out. Out into the dense darkness of the forest. We never paused. We faltered not once. We ran until our lungs were bursting. We ran while our minds contained no other thought that that which set us in flight — those little men, those things, they didn't run after us — they slithered.

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