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September 7, 2005

Volume 6, Issue 7

Since we've mucked up the theme rotation beyond all comprehension, today's theme is "lost in the woods".

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As verdant clouds surround and dim the waning light of afternoon
I stop ‘mid lichen-covered walls to breathe the cedar-scented air –
The birds within their sheltered coves are whispering their mating tunes
While squirrels build their treasure troves of rip’ning acorns, unaware
That here a stranger trespasses who ne’er before this way has seen,
A man who ofttimes finds himself in forests made of streets and walls –
But for a moment, looks in wonder at surroundings still, serene,
And wishes he could take with him, as day grows long and twilight falls,
Some stillness to spread o’er his wordly cares.

Posted by: Keiran Halcyon at September 7, 2005 8:04 AM · Permalink

Eldrick was furious.

He had recently scored a set of classic persimmon-head clubs. Not for work, he had told himself. Never for work. These beauties are for pleasure.

Their heads glowed with a deep varnished luster, the brass screws set perfectly flush. Four gorgeous clubs: driver, brassie, cleek, and spoon. Products of a bygone age.

And now they were missing.

How can they be missing? he asked himself. How many golf club thieves can there be at an Oceanographic Institute on the south shore of Cape Cod?

Eldrick groaned, thinking of the headlines. “Woods Loses Woods at Woods (Hole).” Crap.

Posted by: Elisson at September 7, 2005 9:40 AM · Permalink

"What are you, lost?" she asked.

I was. I told her I was.

She asked where I was from, where I was going. I told her and waited while she gave it some thought. She didn't say anything for a while.

When she spoke again I couldn't understand a thing she said. Her voice had changed to that of a bird and she leapt up from the ground, stood on a branch pointing in two directions at once. I wondered if she was lost too. The both of us, me and that bird, lost in the woods.

Posted by: bgfay at September 7, 2005 9:41 AM · Permalink

I had noticed the problem several hours ago. As the forest continued to thicken the light from above steadily dimmed. The deeper we moved into the stately grove the more any landmark ceased to be either visible or effective in our return. My oh-so-shapely sibling assured me that her fail-safe method would guide us back when we had satisfied our urge to explore. The avian members of the forest population had other opinions. I stifled my urge to notify her that the crumbs now resided within the birds. My only thought was that we now faced starvation within days. It was then I spied the gingerbread house. Saved!!

Posted by: MIKE at September 7, 2005 10:22 AM · Permalink

"That way's North. See the trees? The moss grows on the South side."

"But the sun set over there, so that must be West."

"Unless we've crossed the equator."

"Don't be stupid."

"We could make sure; drain water from a tub and see which way it spirals."

"Is that the big dipper?"

"Maybe. So?"

"If you follow the line out of the handle, it points at the North star."

"Isn't that the little dipper?"

"Excuse me. Does anyone here actually know which direction it is to the car?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"So it doesn't matter which way is North. Let's get going...that way!"

Posted by: Jeff R. at September 7, 2005 1:42 PM · Permalink

Mary was fresh out of breadcrumbs, and it was getting dark. She could hear the distant sounds of wolves howling.

After a while, the trees all began to look alike. She feared she had been walking in circles for the last several hours.

Sounds became more and more acute, and with each one, a mental story ending with her painful death.

Panic. She had to walk straight. It was her only chance of getting out of the woods.

Resigned, she took her knife from her pocket.

In tears, she dropped fingertips and toes as markers.

The wolves found them tasty.

Posted by: Adam at September 7, 2005 4:18 PM · Permalink

"Shh," said Kostadinov, our guide. "Carpathian sasquatch. Very rare, very dangerous." He indicated through the trees to the shaded valley below us.

The sasquatch, a massive, shambling, hairy thing, was uprooting trees, kicking over the markers we had made, and generally upsetting the trail.

"It's going to get us lost!" whispered Alexi.

"It will try," I said through clenched teeth. I fired my rifle at the animal.

"Idiot!" said Kostadinov. "Nobody who kills a sasquatch ever leaves the forest!"

"Silly bumpkin," said Alexi, laughing. "Nobody believes your superstitions."

Suddenly, we were surrounded by angry sasquatch, and I begged to differ.

Posted by: G-Do at September 7, 2005 5:04 PM · Permalink