THUMP Goes the Weasel

THUMP.!!!

And I was suddenly awake.

Startled.

Big time.

I must have passed out walking into nothingness.

I blink several times to wake up.

 – “Hey, it worked with the Tardises didn’t it?”

And I see the door of the tardis in front of me.

I must be there.

Wherever “there” is???

I sure hope Wilson’s close by.

I’m missing him something fierce.

I wanna see him.

I’m anxious as I reach down for the handle to open the door.

I’m almost too afraid.

For fear of what’s on the other side.

Or, what’s NOT gonna be on the other side.

Will it be what I’m expecting and wanting?

“No Guts, No Glory”

But, right before I open the door,

An image,

no,

actually a sound, a voice pops into my brain.

I think I must have been dreaming big time on my way here.

Because this voice I kept hearing, kept sayin’,

“re drum” or “redrum”, or “red rum”. Or something.

And it had a companion voice the next moment or two.

I’d hear,

“dub esore” or “do be sore”. Something.

Weird.

Why they came to mind right then, or what they meant, lord only knows.

Can’t really figure it out why,

those two voices come to mind just as I’m about to open the door.

Oh well.

“Here goes!!!”

But, wait, …

I decide to close my eyes as I step through the door.

Once I’m through, I keep them closed. And I turn around and shut the door.

Still with my eyes closed.

I do another 180 and I’m standing there.

I take a moderately deep breath, and open my eyes. 

All in a short-enough moment  so I can’t change my mind.

“Away to the window I flew ike a flash

Tore open the shutters, threw up the sash.”

. . .

“When what to my wondering eyes should appear …”

(No, it wasn’t Santa Claus and his 8 tiny reindeer.)

I be “go-to-hell” if it wasn’t my “Finger Stump”.

See, I told ya I’d seen that somewhere before. Although I think it’s moving around on me some.

It was pointing to the West. And right past it was

my beloved Flattops.

And Wilson. I just know it. I can feel it in my bones.

That last set of numbers were indeed latitude and longitude. As was the first set.

That “sign” inside my door took me from my home to my Rosebud.

Took me right to my Flattops.

I’m wondering if this isn’t Wilson’s doin’ all along.

I’m standing here with Heart Lake right smack dab in front of me. And I know Deep Lake is behind me.

Heart Lake

These two lakes lie on a big volcanic uplift. A plateau that sits about 9 or 10 thousand feet high. The top of the plateau is the lava flow. Where there are valleys, is where the glacial ice from the last Ice Age carved out the softer regular dirt.

Deep Lake is the remains of a volcanic cone. It’s the third deepest Lake in the state.

It’s funny, and ironic, ’cause it sits right next to the Heart Lake, which is so shallow they put windmills in the ice in the winter to churn the water to make oxygen for the fish.

It’s interesting what one remembers.

As I’m staring out to the west across Heart Lake, I think I must’ve seen too many inkblots in my lifetime.  Me and Mr. Rorschack must’ve gone to different schools together.

‘Cause I’m thinking I’m seeing,

a sign From Wilson.

The same one that was at the Tardises.

I’m seeing it. I know.

My Hippocampus!!!

This is the place.

D’ya see it ???

Wait a minute. STOP!!!

We’re gonna have to give Hippocampus a shorter nickname. While it’s really cool and “substantive”, if he’s gonna be in this story, his name has got to flow like poetry.

“Seahorse” is just too mundane. No pizzazz. Sounds like a racehorse in the 5th at Belmont.

“HC”. That doesn’t flow off the tongue.

Just plain “Hippo”? Maybe.

But, that feels a little weak.

How about reversed – Oppih? OPpi ? Like Ron Howard when he was little. Okay, enuf!

So I head in the direction of “Hippo’. (For the moment. Or OPpi. Whaddaya think???)

West.

There’s a little flat behind Heart Lake. Then an escarpment to a higher level plateau.

Meadow Creek lies beyond to the west-southwest from there. As it slowly slants downhill.

To say I am getting “stoked” would be an understatement.

I am RWA. (ready willing & able)

“Move ’em on, head ’em up

 Head ’em up, move ’em on

 Move ’em on, head ’em up, rawhide.”

(Clint would be proud.)

BSOT
Ian

p. s. I’m here Wilson. If ya can hear me, I’m here.

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Published by Ian

writer, neo-Impressionist photo-artist, Elliott Wave analyst & trader, existentialist

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