Progymnasmata

In those days when I worked for Corporate and would retreat at lunch to my little Walden, I sometimes would go for a walk on a small, but well-used trail around the pond. (My Walden was actually a reservoir at a state park).

Unlike the wealthy yuppie-wives who wore the latest LL Bean outdoor wear, I walked the trail in my business suit. Again, I looked silly and out of place there. But I loved feeling out-of-place amid so many people with whom I felt no kinship.

On to the frightening occurrence, the trail around the pond was well-maintained and graveled. It was made for the women that I described above to get their exercise while enjoying the scenery. However, there were many small, unused game trails and logging trails that intersected the main trail and meandered into the woods around the pond.

So, I'm walking, holding my book and my journal when I feel like I'm being watched. Followed even. I look behind me and I see an oddly dressed man, ragged hair, wearing nice clothes that looked like they've been slept in for a couple of days. He was about 15 paces behind me.

I kept walking for a few moments. And I looked back again. He was still the same distance behind me, looking down. For experiment sake, I sped up. Then, he sped up. . .always keeping the 15 pace distance.

I swallowed hard and slowed down to a pace slower than natural walking speed. He matched my pace again.

At this point, I felt truly afraid. I didn't know what to do. Should I turn around and go back? Confront him? Or take one of the side trails into the woods?

Because there was still some doubt in my mind about whether I was really being followed, I veer off on a side trail into the woods, thinking 'well, if he follows that, then I'll know for sure I'm being followed'.

He did. I heard twigs breaking as he followed me into the woods. I walked until I was out of his sight and ran. I looped back in a semi-circle to the small lot where I parked my car.

Once at my car, I locked the doors and took a breath. Then, I looked up at the lamp post directly across from me. There was a red-tailed hawk on it.

In that same instant, the hawk swooped down and grabbed a mouse about 15 paces from the lamp post. He then flew back up to his perch, and ate the mouse in a couple of bits.

I felt like metaphors and divine signs were being thrown at my face.

I drove back to my cubicle.

I returned to the path the next day and retraced my steps from that afternoon. I saw no trace of that man. And I never saw him again, though I continued going to my Walden every day for the next year and a half.