🍁Going Home Alone🍂

 

            Eventually, Maurice’s things dried beside the fire. He had eaten with Ralph and family, both breakfast and dinner, and it seemed like the only thing left to do was return to the scene. It was time to go home. It was just like getting back up on the horse. Best to be done before he got a chance to let fear set in.
            The problem was solved; he told himself. “Right!” he thought.
            When he put his book back in the bag,  it made him think of Sleeky Sue, and suddenly he missed her very much. He thought about writing her a letter, while remembering their meeting in the freight car, and how kind the tiny creature had been to him. Another tear fell down his long nose.
            He thought that was pretty wet for a tough guy like himself, so to settle his nerves he started working on a tune. But it came out sounding like train music. Maybe this tune was for Sneaky herself.
            “Firekeeper, Ramona, do you have an old pen or pencil I could use?” said Maurice, since he hadn’t been able to find his for a few days.
            “I do! And it won’t do me any good. I can’t write, Maurice. Just keep it,” said Ramona, coming back from the shelf in the cave where she kept a few things that came her way. It was an old yellow Bic pen.
            “Thanks,” he said, still thinking about writing a letter and wondering how to send it.
            “Time for me to go home, and tonight I will lock the door,” he added.
            “Oh, good idea,” said Ralph. “You don’t want to wake up with the place full of nosy rabbits or turkeys!”
            “Yeah, I don’t really expect anybody,” said Maurice.
            But Maurice was still a little nervous. He remembered it all too well, and the awful feeling of helplessness. A True Howler really doesn’t like feeling helpless. He felt a growl coming up from his heart.
            Nevertheless, he started the evening walk to the old farmhouse where no one had lived for many years, and he now thought of as home. He trotted past Ralph’s big log and up into the big meadow. He wasn’t that familiar with the old stump where Twigg and Marge had met, but pass it  he did. He kept going, noting the Alder Tree House as he passed. The farmhouse was closer to town on an old unused dirt road.
            Fall was coming and the days were getting shorter. Soon he saw the moon rising, and a few stars even though there was a sheer layer of cloud way up high  over the forest and the meadow. He, with his fantastically sharp hearing, heard a few exhausted leaves fall on to the grass and settle there. The wind came by, shaking a few more of them down.
            It was dark, and he felt alone suddenly. A new sensation. It was the last in a long series of revelations. He’d never noticed it before. Maurice shivered.
            To cheer himself along he began playing a song he called Going Home Alone In The Dark. He wondered what kind of lyrics Bob might put to it, and had to laugh. You never knew with Bob. He was a true natural, and knew nothing of convention. His sweet heart was as pure and simple as sunlight on flowers.
            Just as he was thinking about lyrics, Maurice heard a voice in the distance. A beautiful voice. He was so astounded that he stopped his tune to listen. The voice stopped too!
            “What!” Maurice said aloud, standing there under the moon. No one answered. So he started up again, walking and playing the going home song.
            She began to sing with him again. He began to discern words! She was singing lyrics with him, totally off the cuff! It was dreamlike. Unbelievable. Miraculous!
            Her soprano was clear as a bell and very carrying. It came to him under the moon, and over the meadow. Straight as an arrow.
 
            You’re not alone.
            Not alone.
            In the night, in the dark.
            Your heart is  heard,
            loudly, clearly.
            Come be a warm night.
            I will be the moon…
           
            To say that he was intrigued is to mince words. To say that he was smitten it to state the obvious.
            “Who are you? Where are you?” he called, but got no answer.
            He found the old dirt road and followed it to the old farmhouse. He didn’t even especially note the scene of the incident with the grey witch. Moonlight shone over everything and a couple of stars blinked through the haze.
            “We’ll meet, I know it,” he told the night, and went on indoors.   

   

  🍁🌔🍁