Trying something a bit new... this is basically a story of my walk the other night. Instead of trying to make it into a poem, I decided just to leave it as prose. It's about owls and cats and people and forests and cities and the night. And fear. Mostly it's about fear. Tell me what you think.

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Walking in the Woods at Night
by Cassander

1.

Last Saturday night, I went for a walk. I had been inside all day, talking to people online mostly, just trying to get by, and I realized I needed some fresh air. I only really planned to go on my normal twenty-to-thirty minute route. I just wore my regular shoes and went outside.

While I was walking, I was thinking of going for one of my hikes the next day and also thinking of enjoying birds and such when I got the idea to walk a little further than usual, down the road that leads to Rock Creek Park. There's a little sliver of wood along the road and I thought maybe I could hear some sort of night bird. Maybe not an owl, but something. And once I was on that road I found myself continuing, cause why not? It seemed safe enough – it's a nice neighborhood and all that. Maybe being so close to the bushes made me a little nervous, but that's about it.

And eventually I got to the entrance to the park. It's a little trail that breaks off the residential street, and it was swallowed in darkness. Darker than I expected. I figured if I went in, I wouldn't be able to see very far but I also figured I'd walk just a little further to see what it looked like.

Now, I've never gone into Rock Creek Park at night. It's a pretty safe woods, but it is a giant wood and there was a pretty famous intern, Chendra Levy, killed there many years ago by a random assailant. And it's right in DC. So yeah, I felt some fear. But I was tired of letting fear control me. I was kind of feeling that a lot of the negative influences in my psychology were based on fear. So this night, I was going to be brave and go on. I was hoping this would be part of the change in myself. With maybe just a little bit of, “what do I got to lose?” thrown in as well.


2.

When I walked down the trail into the wood, I noticed something. It wasn't really that dark. Well, it wasn't so dark that I couldn't see the path, anyway. Sure, it was dark compared to the streetlights and headlights on the road, but those same lights filtered into the woods and my eyes adjusted pretty quickly. I still wasn't sure how far I'd go, but I figured I'd at least have a look around and see if I could hear anything.

It was a warm night, at least by January standards, and with two layers of shirts and a coat, I was perfectly warm. My shoes squeaked as I walked - I hadn't gotten around to fixing them yet – so I was a little self-conscious about being so loud as I walked.

As I got a little further in, I noticed that not only did the lights filter through, but that although the sky was cloudy, the clouds were reflecting the red light of the city back down and it was enough to light the trail. I could see car lights in the distance along the road that goes through the park as well as lights from houses that are along the edge of the park near where the trail goes. It was eerie. It was beautiful

And that's when I realized I wasn't alone. An animal of some sort bounded through the woods. I couldn't see it. It was probably a deer, maybe a fox or coyote. But I was scared – not scared of the deer, but scared because it might be a human instead. I found myself trying to calculate how fast it went to think if a human could go that fast. It's funny that when we go into the woods, that's what we're afraid of – humans. I was aware that I'm a large man and I look bigger and stronger than I really am. But I knew there was no help there, so if I did encounter someone, it'd be up to me to handle it. And still I went on.

I soon heard an owl. I think it was an owl, anyway. It hooted once. Then I heard another. I think two owls were calling to each other. They only did it for a little bit and seemed to be distant, one maybe being outside the woods in one of the trees on the residential streets. Never did see them or figure out where they were coming from, but I was happy just to hear it, a little bit of my mission fulfilled.


3.

And I kept going and I kept going and I found myself wondering if I'd make it all the way to my perch over Rock Creek. The trail actually follows Rock Creek for the most part and the reflections of distant lights and car lights in the dark water was pretty cool. My shoes kept squeaking, but when I stopped, I'd often hear little movements in the underbrush. And I kept hoping that I was the only human there.

And so I went further and further and got deeper into the park until there weren't any more lights from outside. It was just the clouds reflecting light down and it was getting darker. And there was fog. I couldn't see more than 100 feet ahead of me. I must admit I was scared.

Now, I've spent my share of time out in the woods at night. But it's usually backpacking way out in the woods. Though, even then, there's always a little tinge of fear, no matter how comfortable I might be. And it'd been awhile. Maybe that fear is instinctual – born of not being able to see and maybe a lingering evolutionary memory of a time when humans really did have something to fear from the dark. Only now, those shadows take the form, within the mind, of lurking humans.

But I kept going until I did indeed come to my perch. Just before I got there, I heard my second and final bird. This wasn't an owl. It was a higher-pitched call and it only called out a couple of times. It was beautiful, but I never saw the bird nor have any clue what it was.

My perch consists of a few boulders that are set on a hillside over a broad, slow area of Rock Creek. Maybe fifty feet up? I'm not great with estimates. It was a little harder climbing them at night, but I manged ok and I sat down and just listened. It was beautiful. A few of the city lights filtered in because the area around the creek was so open. I heard a little critter, maybe a mouse, scurry nearby. And then I heard a plop as something went into the water. But that was pretty much it. Mostly it was quiet, except for the sounds of distant cars and trains.

I realized I was in a liminal place, the boundary between the city and the forest. I was walking in the shadows. It reminded me of the sort of place my ex, a cat through-and-through, would be at home. And this little trip seemed like something she might do, only much quieter. But as I sat there, I realized that many of the sounds I heard were due to the animals hearing me and running away. When I perched there quietly, they, too, were quiet.

I felt pretty draconic up there, looking over the wood at night. I felt more part of the place than I ever had before. And I just took the time to sit and think, finally completing Isvoc's first Christmas wish. As part of her wishlist, she asked her friends to take a moment and just enjoy the quiet for a little while, getting away from any gadgets or gizmos or other intrusions. It's something I do fairly often, but it's been busy and hectic this last month and I'm not sure I ever got the chance. So I just stayed up on my perch for awhile and took it all in.


4.

The return trip was much easier. I was more confident walking the trail and it was pretty uneventful. I did notice the fog increasing, wrapping around the world, both the woods and the streets at night. And when I got back to the streetlights, they seemed amazingly bright despite the fog. It didn't seem dark out at all. And when I arrived at the more urban parts of the area, it was just blinding. I guess everything is relative. I had always thought of the streets as being dark at night, but it sure didn't seem that way coming back.

I saw a cat that looked just like Frai on the way out. Well, maybe the cat wasn't Siamese and didn't have points, but it was black and white and long-haired and it crossed the road slowly in front of me and then passed into that little stretch of wood along the road. I wasn't quite sure it wasn't her, to be honest. I'm still not sure.

And that's it, I guess. I'm not sure how exciting that all sounds, but it had my blood flowing. I made my own little suspense movie out of it, even though the longer I stayed in the woods, the more I realized I was alone in a good way, not a bad way. And I guess I hope that I'll be able to face my fears in other parts of my life as well. Sometimes when I've hoped for the best, it's turned out for the worst. And I think some of my concerns are legitimate. But many aren't. And anyway, letting fear run my life is certainly not going to help me.

© 2013 Cassander