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Several years ago, I was in the habit of walking through the woods where ever I lived. Summer, fall, or in the dead of winter, you could find me strolling along woodland trails marveling at nature. I grew up in the rolling hills of West Tennessee. My particular favorite place was Natchez Trace State Park. Many of my childhood days were spent wandering around Maple Creek Lake and the Pecan Tree.I remember one summer day very well. Like all July days in Tennessee, this day was hot and muggy. It was one of those days when you looked outside and you broke into a sweat. Never the less, I drove to the Pecan Tree and parked. I chose a path that started from behind the barn and struck out down a well marked trail. As the trail snaked it's course through the steamy woods, the air was filled with the chatter of birds and the buzzing of mosquitoes.
After a few miles on the trail, I turned aside and entered the underbrush. The going wasn't difficult. I made sure I took the time to clear any saw briar from my way so I wouldn't tear my legs. Saw briars aren't good for much except ripping gashes in bare flesh. I started down a hillside into a hollar. I was hoping to find a spring to wash some sweat off. Finding an outcropping of red sandstone, I found what I was looking for. Water was running from the sandstone. It was crystal clear and bottomed by small pebbles and pine nettles. Cupping my hands, I crouched to scoop up some water. It was cool and it felt good going down my throat.
As I reached for another scoop, a strange feeling came over me. Suddenly, the wood was silent. The birds had stopped chirping. The mosquitoes seemed to have vanished. Even the gentle breeze that earlier had stirred the trees had stilled. I stood up tilting my head to catch the faintest sound. Naturally, I knew something was wrong. The tree tops stood motionless against the hazy blue sky. The water from the spring was now only a dribble. Turning in circles, I looked to see if something, anything was moving. All was still. Deathly so!
Suddenly, I heard a faint stirring just to the right and behind me. Not really wanting to look, I slowly turned my head. My eyes turned and stopped on a figure of a man standing just across the spring. Needless to say, he looked odd. He wore for clothes nothing but pants that resembled tanned hide. His long jet-black hair was loose about his shoulders. His skin was ruddy. His features were lean. Decidedly, Native American. Even though the sun wasn't shining directly on him, he seemed to be luminous.
"Hello, my friend," said the man. "It is nice to see you again."
I almost lost my balance. He spoke. It was English, too. I couldn't answer. Nothing came to mind to say.
"Do not be afraid," he said smiling broadly.
"Have we met before?", I asked slowly.
He took a step toward the spring. His step made no sound on the dry leaves.
"We have never actually met, but you have seen me many times. "
Taking another step, "When you look at a sacred mound, I am there."
I stuttered. "I don't remember seeing you before."
Chuckling, "You have seen me many times." When you see a hunting hawk, it is me. Look in the early morning mists over the swamp, you can see me there."
"Why am I see you now," I asked
"Things were right this time. But, you may never see me like this again."
I was silent. I didn't know what to say. Suddenly, a clap of thunder shattered the silence. It seemed to be right on top of me. I jumped, falling over a dead branch. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. The water from the spring gushed out into the pool. The birds were chirping and the mosquitoes were buzzing about my head. When I returned to the car, no one else was about. I looked at the clock in the car and then at my watch. I realized I had been gone nearly four hours. "No way," I thought to myself. I drove away, dazed and confused.
It has been 15 years since I drank from that spring. This guy, whoever was right. I haven't seen him again. I may never. But, I can say that there are spirits walking.
Last modified 29 December 2005.