A Walk to Remember

Back in the early 80’s, when I was a kid, we lived in an apartment complex in Clinton , CT.  It was a mostly residential area, but there was a small wooded area to the rear of the lot. I do not remember anything remarkable about the complex or it’s surroundings and I was not prone to straying too far from home.

One day I was asked to take our dog for a walk, so I put her on a leash and walked into the woods with her. It seemed like the natural place to let her do her business. It was during the afternoon and the sun filtered through the trees of this wooded area creating a mixture of light and shadows. The dog was enthusiastic and sniffing around profusely. As it was summer there was plenty of vegetation around for the dog to check out.

I remember that there was a grassy path through the trees. The grass was short, so it would seem it was maintained. As I walked with the dog the path kept dividing into intersections. Always cautious, I kept a mental tally of which paths we chose: right, right, left, right, left, etc. We had gotten far enough in that I was becoming wary of venturing any further with so many turns to remember to backtrack. As we walked just a bit more we came to a clearing. I was a bit startled and couldn’t imagine where we had gotten ourselves to. It was a grass covered oval shaped area with a large wooden structure in the middle of it that, to my interpretation, looked like a gallows.

Confused and lost, as I had no idea what we had walked into, I suddenly felt scared and wanted to get back home as quickly as possible. Here I entrusted our dog’s nose to help us find our way back through the twisty grass maze. She did not let us down and I was extremely relieved to walk back into the parking lot with her several minutes later. I told my mother about our adventure and asked if she was familiar with the trail, but she wasn’t. As far as I know it was an unrepeatable experience. I never found the trail again. It seemed that it had disappeared, if, indeed, it ever had really existed.

– Moonchild