Otters and Rats

Otters, I’ve been told, are bigger than Beavers.

But when I saw an Otter yesterday, I immediately recognized it for what it was—a rat with an extremely long nose.

It might even have Ratty, since his friend in the corner looks so much like Mole.

They’re in the water again today—or rather, still. That’s hardly surprising, though. What, after all, is life without floats?

“Is it nice?” you ask.

“Nice? It’s the ONLY thing…believe me, my young friend, there is NOTHING—absolutely nothing—half so worth doing as simply messing about with floats. Simply messing…messing—about—with—floats; messing—” (with apologies to Kenneth Grahame.)

Sadly, of course, I haven’t been messing about with planes recently—floats or otherwise. I have no amazing stories to pass on this week. Last week, it seemed almost that we were too busy to write about everything. This week, things are too slow to have anything to write about.

Three girls and one cook for three tables? A mad rush with hardly time to sit down and eat after taking the main course out. Three girls and one cook for one table? (Let’s just say that we have permission to sit out with the guests tonight—there’s only two, after all.) By July, the work should be steadier, and crazier.

In the meantime, the other girls and I are getting good practice on a new version of the honey-do list:

“Oh, you’ve finished the cabins already? That’s awesome! You know, we really need to get the boardwalks varnished today before more guests come in.”

“Oh, girls, could you maybe weed around the staircase today? Those horsetails grow so fast!”

“Oh, you know what we need to do? We should really check all the waders in the shed to see that they don’t leak when the guests are wearing them.”

It’s fun.

But we don’t wash the float planes. At least, not yet. The guys do that.

P.S. Did you know that used planes can have just as many vehicle issues as used cars? Plus, with planes, you have to get a flight review every two years. My knowledge of aviation trivia is growing by leaps and bounds. At this rate, I might be a whiz at it by the end of the summer!

Night Shot 14: Home

While some may believe that real stories never end, the time has come now for this story to end. The story started back in March as a random post about cameras. It continued through the surprise visit of Captain Nwin and Jerry's subsequent efforts to catch the mysterious Shadow. I hope you have enjoyed the chase! If you choose to wonder how it might continue, so be it. But now, for this blog, and for Jerry, this is the final episode of Night Shot, in which…

#####

In the east, a gold haze spread across the sky. The light gleamed along thin, bright wisps of cloud and shimmered on the dark silhouettes of the pines. Jerry sat and watched it for a long time—longer than he quite remembered.

At last, though, he shook himself and looked around.

Captain Nwin sat next to him, leaning against one of the platform posts of the old train station, watching the dawn. Silas slumped next to her, his head nodding forward.

Carefully, Jerry raised his camera and slid back until he could get a clear shot of Captain Nwin looking away from him, facing the sunrise. He held his breath as the camera clicked, and then sat back to look at the photo on the display panel.

The captain turned around. She raised an eyebrow when she saw him with the camera, but she only smiled. “Would you believe it?” she said. “I’ve never seen a meteor shower before. I’m glad Silas told us about this one.”

“No?” Jerry grinned sheepishly. Setting the camera down, he slid forward and sat beside her on the edge of the platform, his back resting against the wall. “I haven’t either, at least not since I was a kid.”

“Will you have a busy day today?”

Jerry considered. “Not really. Normal projects, that’s all. What about you?”

“It’ll be kind of busy,” Captain Nwin admitted. “I’ve been on assignment with the local force here, but that ended yesterday—a big raid on a smuggling ring. Or it was supposed to be, but things got a little mixed up.”

“Drugs?”

She shook her head. “Old furniture, actually. That's part of the mix-up. We’ll have lots of paperwork today to sort it out, and then I’ll have to fly out this afternoon. Minnesota—to follow some connections up there.”

“Oh.” Jerry didn't know what to say. “Isn’t it still snowing up there, or something?”

The captain laughed. “Not when I checked last. I grew up there, and we did get summer, you know.” She studied him. “So what do you do? Where you do you work?”

“I work long-distance for a tech company. Mostly writing patches for software, but sometimes I get to test security for their clients.” Jerry hesitated, before he added, “I’ve been trying to start my own photography business.”

“How’s it working?”

“Not very well,” Jerry admitted. “Though someone actually bought a couple prints yesterday, and asked about a photo shoot. First time, so—” he hesitated. “I wondered if you wouldn’t like to—if you would want to go out sometime. Celebrate, I guess?”

“I don’t know—” Captain Nwin seemed about to shake her head. Then she smiled. “Maybe when I get back?”

Jerry nodded. They were looking at each other, but Jerry glanced away quickly and stared out at the sunlight as it spreading across the dark trees. His fingers itched to hold his camera, to capture the pink flush of the clouds and the pale purple-blue above them. He leaned back, though, and left the camera where it was.

...

Beside them, Silas stirred and sat up with a grunt. “What time is it?” he asked.

Jerry pulled out his phone and checked. “Six-forty,” he said.

Captain Nwin scrambled to her feet. Jerry got up also and stretched, but the captain was already heading toward the road. “Phone call at seven,” she explained over her shoulder. “And at seven-thirty, and at eight. I’m going to need so much coffee this morning. Sorry! I’ll call you guys when I get home next week.”

Jerry helped pull Silas to his feet. As Silas shook himself, stretching stiffly, Jerry grabbed his camera bag and camera.

They were nearly to the road, about twenty feet behind the captain when Silas stopped abruptly and gave a curious, shrill whistle. Jerry looked around, surprised, but Silas was chuckling. “There she is—silly kitty,” he told Jerry. “I told you we would find her around here.”

Jerry looked and saw Silas’s gray cat sitting bolt upright, as cats would, in the grass by the ditch. Silas clucked to the cat, and she uncurled herself and came forward, picking her way over the damp grass.

Silas bent and picked her up, rubbing her chin. “Good kitty,” he crooned. “Let’s go find something to eat, shall we?”

Captain Nwin had heard Silas’s whistle and turned back briefly. When she saw the cat, she laughed and waved to them, before hurrying on.

…

About twenty minutes later, Jerry pulled up in front of his house just as his neighbor came down the front walk. They passed each other and nodded briefly. Jerry caught his neighbor’s curious glance, but neither of them spoke. Then the neighbor got in his own car and started the engine, while Jerry strolled up the walk and let himself into his side of the duplex.

As he closed the door behind himself and set his camera bag down on the counter, he realized suddenly that he wasn’t particularly tired—not yet, anyway.

He went into the kitchen and poked about for a minute before he washed off a plate and a coffee mug from the stack in the sink. He got the pancake mix down from its box on the top shelf above the stove, but he had to hunt about a few minutes longer before he found a skillet and set it on the stovetop to heat. Slowly, carefully, Jerry made himself breakfast, ate it, washed his dishes, and even wiped down the counters. Finally, he finished and pulled out his laptop to boot it.

As he sat down to work, though, he couldn’t shake the odd feeling that he was forgetting something.

Winning Balance: Book Review

"I was an interesting combination of nerd, tomboy, and girlie girl," Olympic Gold Medalist Shawn Johnson writes in Winning Balance. Shawn knows what it's like to be a girl who doesn't always fit in, who isn't part of the cliques, and who can't always figure out what life is supposed to mean.

She also knows what it's like to lose the gold medal everyone expected her to win—and then to win again where she least expected it.

Winning Balance might best be categorized as an inspirational memoir. With co-author Nancy French, Shawn describes her struggles and successes in finding true balance in life. This is the story of Shawn's journey from her childhood in Des Moines, Iowa, to her introduction to gymnastics, her growing love for the sport—and its competitiveness--and finally to international fame and the 2008 Beijing Olympics. Along the way, though, Shawn tries to follow two competing desires—"I wanted to win, and I wanted to be just like everyone else."

My biggest quibble with the book? Since much of its promo material focuses on Shawn's 2008 skiing accident, I expected the book to address this and her recovery process more in depth. It does highlight how Shawn struggled to find purpose and direction after her win—and how the injury actually helped Shawn refocus on her priorities—but don't expect a lot of detail.

Still, I found Shawn's story to be encouraging and enjoyable. The book is an easy read, and each chapter ends with a short thought for reflection. Enthusiasm seems to win out over depth in places, but overall, I found Shawn to be an engaging role model. She talks openly about the pressures she faced and her family's attempts to keep her sane in the midst of an intense training schedule. I liked her sincerity and vision, and I would recommend this book to any teen girl to read.

For more information about Shawn's story, you can check out the site for Winning Balance, or watch the book trailer:

 
[My thanks to Tyndale for sending me a review copy of Winning Balance, in exchange for my honest opinion of this book.]

PTA's Believe It or Not 1.0

Did you ever think tractors were just for digging up fields?

Actually, they're not.

Not here, that is—at least when it's time to get those float planes back in the water.

Spring has come to Port Alsworth, the potatoes are planted, the trees are green on the mountains, and incredible things are appearing every day. A plane pulled by a tractor? Check. How about a boat out of water?

And that print on the runway—is it a bear?

Maybe, but more likely it's just a moose. (Though there might be bear tracks further on.)

More signs of spring—just yesterday, we walked through Dry Creek on dry rocks.

By evening, and the creek was rising...

...and this afternoon we had to wade across. I took a video of the water rising last night—what you might call “watching the watershed in action.” It's not exactly a flashflood, but you can definitely see the water movement in the rocks. I would post the video, but I’m afraid the file size is too large for the Internet connection at the lodge.

And yes, we have been working as well—working very hard, in fact.

Have you ever had to clean a room completely? Wash down all its walls, dust everything, wash the windows, and pull apart a queen-sized bed to clean the frame and vacuum under it? We did all that for ten cabins in the week after I got here.

Now spring cleaning is over, the lodge and all the cabins are ready, and we've even had a few guests through, with many more to come.(If you haven't done your own spring cleaning yet, now would be a good time!)

In the meanwhile, I'm planning to investigate some possible alien sightings. I'll post photos if I find out anything more.

Night Shot 13: Again at Night

In which—the penultimate episode of Night Shot—Jerry sees a shadow in front of him and hears sudden noises in the dark…

#####

“Hands up.”

Jerry froze. Then he recognized the voice. “Captain Nwin?”

A flashlight shone in his eyes, and he blinked. Next minute Captain Nwin lowered the beam. “You? What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Come on,” Silas urged. His voice cracked with impatience, and he grabbed Jerry’s arm, dragging him toward the parking lot. “I saw it—there—no, there—no, where did it go?”

The captain swung around. For an instant, the long beam of her flashlight cut across the dark trees. Then it faded into the orange glow from the platform light. Jerry caught a brief glint of light near the platform, low against the ground.

“There,” he cried, pointing, but the light flickered and vanished.

They ran forward together. A gust of wind met them as they left the pines. Jerry stumbled on the gravel and the rocks slid underfoot, but he caught himself. He ran on, clutching his camera under his arm and trying to swing his camera bag across his shoulder, out of his way.

Jerry was yelling as he reached the platform. With a bound, he cleared the corner and rushed on into the shadows.

He was past the station and into the darkness beyond it before he came to himself and stopped. The wind blew against his face, and he shivered as he stared into the night around him, but he could see nothing. Impulsively, he raised his camera and fumbled to adjust its settings. For a moment, he stared through the viewfinder. And slowly he realized it was ridiculous. He couldn’t see, the camera couldn’t work in that darkness, and—just as Jerry was straightening up to look around—his battery warning began to flash at him. In disgust, he turned the camera off and slung the strap over his neck.

Taking a deep breath, Jerry stood and looked around at the darkness. He still could see nothing. He could hear nothing, only his own breath as he let it out again. “Don’t be silly,” he told himself. “There is nothing to hear. Of course.” He took a cautious step forward, trying to feel whether he was on the gravel or the grass.

Then Captain Nwin spoke beside him, and he almost jumped. “Along the tracks? Where did it go? Did you see it?” She turned and moved toward the railroad tracks, running her flashlight beam along the grassy bank beyond the station.

But Jerry stopped, shaking his head. “No,” he said out loud. “It’s probably gone. If it was anything. At least, it wouldn’t still be here if it was—we’ve scared it off by now.”

“Where’s Silas?” Captain Nwin asked.

Jerry hesitated and stared around. His skin prickled uneasily.

When he looked over his shoulder, he could see the outline of the train station, faint against the dim glow. Captain Nwin was already jogging toward it. Jerry sprinted after her, following the beam of her flashlight as it bobbed and wavered along the ground.

In another minute, they reached the platform and hurried back along it, calling to Silas, but the wind carried their voices away. At their feet, the beam of Captain Nwin’s flashlight blinked unsteadily.

They had just reached the far edge of the platform when Captain Nwin stopped. “Oh, drat,” she whispered, just loud enough for Jerry to hear her. She shook the flashlight and smacked it against her palm. “It’s dead. Where’s Silas—do you see him?”

Before he could answer, a blue spark snapped above the platform, and they stood together in the darkness.

( Read the final episode in Night Shot 14!)

Return Trip: Tanalian Falls

Today and yesterday—intermittent clouds and sun. If the wind doesn't blow, and the sun shines, and you can stand exactly under a patch of sunlight, then it might count as warm for five minutes until the wind starts blowing again.

Sunday—amazing weather, sunny and incredibly warm, like a semi-tropical August day. In the 60s, that is.

Doesn't sound warm to you? Trust me, after a week in the low fifties, it was warm. And so, with two others from the lodge crew, I ran for the hills that afternoon.

We had a particular destination in mind, though...Tanalian Falls.

Last year, I made this hike with a group from the lodge, heading up The Fire Break—as it is known locally. As I found then, the Fire Break trail climbs the ridge in giant stair-steps, held in place only by its tree-root reinforcing.

This time, though, the hiking party voted in favor of the Beaver Pond trail. The trail loops more leisurely around the ridge around—what else?—the Beaver Pond.

We were about half-way up before we realized that “pond” could also be applied to the path in places. The park service has very helpfully installed boardwalks in sections of the trail, but such help can be deceptive.

Here, at a narrow corner of the trail known now as Jael’s Diving Board, the close proximity of the boards suggests an easy jump across the puddle to safety, once you edge far enough out on the soft, water-logged tundra.

Unfortunately, the near end of the board is floating in about ten inches of water. (I went the long way around on high ground.)

We didn’t let a few puddles stop us, however. We were head for bigger water—here!

Yes, that is snow you see on the right.

And, yes, it really is spring here.

We saw a number of other flowers on the hike up, and I got a botany lesson on cranberries, crowberries, and tundra, plus a chance sighting of two purple violets. It's still early for most of the flowers, but they're starting to come out.

At the falls, we wandered about for a while, took photos, joked about going wading. I wanted to wade across to the land of greener grass.

Since that didn't work, though, we climbed up the hillside instead, and got even more photos. (Maybe I should go into business as a postcard photographer. Let's see, who could I pester about that?)

Speaking of hillsides—it's easier to climb trees than it is to climb rocks. The trees tend to stay in place, assuming they aren't rotten stumps pretending to be firmly rooted supports. The rocks tend to crumble off in chunks.

Also speaking of hillsides, we came back down the Fire Break. It's easy going downhill, especially when you're headed home for dinner!

Night Shot 12: In the Shadows

In which, following Silas’s explanation for the shadow, however vague, it is once more night…

#####

The sky was changing between evening and sunset as Jerry pulled up in front of Silas’s shop. The garage was dark, but a light still shone through the office window.

As Jerry parked the Honda against the curb, he saw the office light switch off and Silas came out. The old man wore a thick coat and brown fisherman’s hat. As Silas turned to lock his office, Jerry noticed that he was carrying a large flashlight in one hand and small package folded under his arm.

Jerry got out and leaned against the car, waiting.

Silas shuffled down the path. He grinned as he noticed Jerry and waved. “I hope you remembered your camera.”

Jerry held up his camera bag in answer. “Were you planning to drive down?” he asked.

Silas shook his head. “It’s not so far,” he said.

Jerry shrugged and zipped his coat. “This is ridiculous—absolutely, totally ridiculous. Maybe the shadow is related to that psychologist.”

…

It was nearly dark before they reached the station. Silas walked with a sort of shuffling trot, glancing from side to side and sniffing the wind. Jerry trailed after him reluctantly, clutching the strap on his camera bag and trying to remember not to bite his nails as he imagined all the things that might make a shadow. “So Silas thought it was time-travelers—wouldn’t it just a likely be ghosts or monsters of some kind? The type with big glowing eyes and no faces, or holes where their faces should be? Or not anything at all—just an empty nothing that could pull you away to a place…somewhere…”

“There is it!” Silas said happily. “What do you think—should we stay by the parking lot?”

Jerry caught up with him and stared at the tall gray building. In the dusk it looked like any other abandoned train station—one or two windows boarded over, the others peeking out through dusty panes.

“You were by the parking lot last night, right?” Silas asked.

Jerry mumbled something and nodded.

“Then we’ll stay here.”

He went on, skirting the row of pines along the parking lot, and finally ducking behind them. Jerry pushed after him and found him in a narrow hollow between the trees. “Great place to watch from,” Silas decided. “We can watch the station, and no one would see us here unless we jumped on them.”

Jerry looked around dismally. Pine needles covered the ground, and grass grew in sparse patches between the trees, but the ground was still soaked from last night’s rain. “Yeah, I knew it was a bad idea, at the time. A really bad idea. So why did I do it?”

Silas, however, was already unfolding the package he had brought. It looked to Jerry like a piece of stiff cloth, but he helped Silas shake it out over the ground.

Silas carefully lowered himself onto it. “Waterproof,” he explained, not waiting for Jerry’s question. “But it’s canvass, so it should be quieter than a regular tarp. I thought it out several years ago.”

Then there was quietness and darkness for a long time. Dusk passed, night came, and nothing changed.

Jerry got his camera out and fiddled with the settings, “So it would be ready if…” But he didn’t finish that thought. The wind began to blow—even in the pines Jerry shivered and huddled into his coat. He couldn’t see Silas, but he could feel the old man beside him, still craning and stretching to see through the pine branches. Jerry wondered if it might rain.

The sky stayed clear, though, and the platform light glowed across the parking lot. The moon rose slowly above them.

After a long time, Jerry picked up his camera and leaned back. He almost had the focus right, but the wind set the branches swaying and he had to wait for them to still.

“Where were you the other nights?” Silas asked abruptly.

Jerry almost jumped at the sound, but he held the camera frozen in place. “Hunh—what?” he mumbled, sliding the zoom out slightly.

“The first couple times you saw the shadow—when you got the photos.”

“What—oh, that,” Jerry straightened and studied the photos blinking past on his display before they vanished into blankness like the night around him. “I don’t know—over on the edge of town, I guess. One was by the factories, but the other one I just found this place where the street lights look like they’re playing tic-tac-toe, and with the bushes behind them…”

It was too dark to see anything in the pines, but Jerry felt Silas’s start. The old man leaned toward him and pointed toward the east corner of the building. “What’s that? Did you see it?” he whispered.

“What? Where?” Jerry whispered back.

Silas was already scrambling up and Jerry started to follow. They edged their way forward, but before they could reach the gravel, the shadow moved in front of them, heavy and solid against the platform light.

(The story is almost over—coming next is Night Shot 13! I will post the final installment on June 8th.)

Night Shot 11: Silas's Story

In which, after a brief interruption, Silas actually gets a chance to explain…

#####

Jerry glanced at Silas and Captain Nwin. He opened his mouth, but closed it again. Giving the others an apologetic shrug, he backed away and hurried into the kitchen with the cellphone.

“Hello? Jerry?”

He closed the door part way, but he could hear the captain’s voice behind him. “At the train station? The train station?” Then, automatically, he answered the voice on his phone. “Hey, Evie—yeah—yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”

He cringed even before he heard her response. “I know—I’m sorry, but it was after midnight—and we’re three hours later out here, and—”

Part of Jerry’s mind listened and replied to the conversation. Another part heard the footsteps as someone crossed the living room. His front door opened and closed.

“Now what?” Jerry started to wonder as he peered out the window, trying to see who had left. “What in the world is—” Jerry caught himself in time. “No, it’s okay. It’s—ah, it’s sort of a—I've got sort of a business meeting right now, okay? Can we talk this afternoon maybe? Everything’s okay with mom, right?”

“Last I heard,” Evie assured him. “Alright. Bye!”

Jerry told her goodbye, closed his phone, and sighed. He could hear a car engine starting outside.

For a moment, he stood in the kitchen, shaking his head. At last, though, he opened the door and went back to the living room. Silas was still waiting there, his back to Jerry as he stared out the back window at the narrow strip of lawn and Jerry’s scraggly row of arbor vitae.

“Not much of a view?” Jerry said.

Silas turned around, smiling just a little.

“My sister,” Jerry explained. He glanced around awkwardly. “So where’d Captain Nwin go?”

“She said she had to get back to work—since nothing had happened to you, I guess.” Silas shrugged. “Actually, she is a police investigator, and she’s trained to like normal explanations for things.”

“And—?” Jerry paused.

“And I don’t?” Silas guessed. He sat down on the couch, and Jerry sat down on the coffee table, across from him. “No—but that’s because the normal explanations don't always fit.”

“Explanations for what?” Jerry demanded.

“For what people remember—or don’t,” Silas said. “Sometimes it’s normal—people do just forget—but then there are times when something strange happens. I’ve heard a lot, everyone trying to explain why it happens. That they saw something, but can’t remember what it was because—well, it must have been just a bird, or maybe an optical delusion. Isn’t that like what you remember?”

Jerry stared at him incredulously. “Honestly? I don’t remember. And that means that I don’t remember anything like this, just that—” Jerry stopped.

“That a couple police officers showed up asking about this photo—or something like it?” Silas asked. He grinned and opened his notebook for Jerry to see.


Jerry studied the photo pasted onto the notebook page with a string of numbers scrawled below it. It was just the corner of a building, trees, shadows— “The Shadow,” Jerry said. “That’s like one of the photos I took, only—”

“That is one of the photos you took,” the old man replied. “It’s the one you gave to Captain Nwin last week. She loaned me a copy of it.”

“And why don’t—didn’t—I remember it?”

“That’s one of the problems I’ve been trying to solve. It’s a little unnatural, if you ask me.”

“Like ghosts?” Jerry asked. “So you’re saying I was seeing a ghost?”

Silas chuckled, rubbing his palms together. “Ghosts or aliens—that’s what everyone says first. No—people like to think that. It’s sort of mysterious and fantastic—if it could be—but then it’s so unlikely that they don’t have to worry about it.”

“You mean—” Jerry asked slowly, “it’s like they can believe in ghosts or aliens without actually having to believe in them?

Silas flipped a couple pages back and handed the notebook to Jerry. “I used to think it was time travelers, actually. I mean, if someone in the future had figured out how to travel back in time, they wouldn’t want people to see them do it—and so they’d have to figure out a way to keep people from seeing it—or else to forget that they had seen it if they had.”

Jerry was staring at the notebook pages. They were full of small scrawls—a few words here and there, but mostly numbers. Row after row of numbers, jostling together on the narrow page. After a moment, though, they slid into order. Jerry looked up. “You were trying to keep track of where they happened—to find out if there was a pattern?”

“That’s right. Only there were too many of them—I realized it couldn’t be time-travelers, not unless there are a great deal more of them in the future than anyone expects. Though there could be. There certainly could be.”

“So what is it?”

Silas rubbed his hands again, thoughtfully, in silence. “I don’t know. But whatever it actually is—well, it must have figured out time travel and teleporting and every other secret of motion man has tried to discover. The thing is—” he paused and glanced at Jerry sharply. “I’ve never heard of a case less than week after it happened. There almost always seems to be a small burst of activity after the first incident. I’ve wanted to try and find out what goes on, but I’m always just a little too late. This would be the first time—the day after…”

He stopped again, and Jerry shifted uncomfortably.

“You want to come along?” Silas asked.

Jerry shook his head, hard. “No—no—why would I? That’s ridiculous.”

(The story continues in Night Shot 12.)

West to Meet the Dawn

(We interrupt our regular program to bring you these pictures. Check back tomorrow evening for episode 11 of Night Shot.)

On a day very recently, I started out here…

…and ended up here…

How does flying this route seem the second time around? Not too bad, but not quite what I expected. It’s hard to say what I did expect from my trip last year, but the second time around I had a better opportunity to notice the little details, from the way the plane tilts up at takeoff to my improvised apple-juice level as I watched the plane’s flight angle change from cruising altitude to descent.

The world looks strange from the sky, high above the house centered between four baseball fields like the heart of a four-leaf clover, and the parking lots lined with tiny orange inchworms that can only be school buses.

And yet, in the brief transit through airports, I found myself flashing back to my trip in the opposite direction last fall. As I came in through the gate I left then, I caught myself looking for the camera I lost there, as if it might be waiting for me after seven months.

But it wasn’t, and by morning I was once more landing in Alaska—only it wasn’t morning. It was still the day before. I don’t usually see 12:05 AM, but that time, I saw it twice in an hour. This is Alaska at midnight (or very close to it):

And from there, back to the mountains…

…the first (for a second time) sight of the lake from the air…

…and some old friends from last year, in a place where it is still barely spring.

The moral for writers: Don’t try to write the story before it happens—it’ll be much more interesting if you just sit back and watch it.

The moral for everyone else (to borrow a quote): “It's a dangerous business—going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

Night Shot 10: Interruption

In which Silas tries to explain what happened last night…

#####

Jerry and Captain Nwin stared at Silas.

Silas grinned at them sheepishly, but Jerry noticed that the old man was gripping a thin notebook, his hands shaking with excitement as he shook his head. “No,” Silas went on. “I really don’t think Jerry would remember seeing this. Not if the stories I’ve heard have any truth.”

“What stories?” Captain Nwin demanded. “Not those stories again.”

Jerry just looked from one to the other, wishing one of them would explain what they thought he’d been doing—“Or why they cared what he’d doing—or even why he wasn’t supposed to remember what he’d been doing, if he’d been doing it instead of not doing it?”

Silas wrinkled one eyebrow, and Captain Nwin frowned at him. “This isn’t going to work,” she said. “I want to know how and why Jerry was wandering around the train station last night, and you want to talk about ghost stories again.”

“I wasn’t at the train station,” Jerry protested. “At least—I don’t remember going to a train station.”

“Isn’t that how it works, though?” Silas asked eagerly. “Isn’t that how it always works? That—”

He broke off, and Jerry heard a phone beeping faintly. Instinctively, he reached for his pocket, but his phone wasn’t there. Then he saw Captain Nwin pull a phone out and turn away to answer it. “Same model as mine,” Jerry thought, before he remembered not to stare at the captain. He turned away, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening.

“Hello?” Captain Nwin said. Her voice changed slightly. “I’m sorry—yes—yes, he’s here—here he is.”

Jerry heard her hiss at him. “Jerry.” He turned back, and she shoved the phone toward him. “It’s yours,” she whispered. He stared at her, and she pushed the phone into his hand. “Your phone,” she insisted. “You lost it, and one of the officers picked it up this morning—at the train station.”

Dazed, Jerry took the phone and answered it. “At the train station? How had it gotten there? Unless he—”

“Jerry—Jerry—are you there? Are you alright? What’s going on?”

(And the story continues—in Night Shot 11.)