Off I went, back through Cazadero and up the mountains, then down the hills, on a little itty bitty road where sometimes you have to stop and let some oncoming traffic through that reeeealllllyy narrow part, all the while dodging a war zone of fallen branches and trees and rocks and things that were still falling from the storm. I finally made it to work, then heard a fuel tanker had tanked on Highway 1, and knew it was not going to be a busy day. Let's face it, an overturned tanker on a good day is at least four hours of road closed, and on a stormy and blustery one things will definitely take a bit longer. Finally, after an eternity of finding stupid things to do, the boss man offered blessed relief from the tedium and said "Go Home." So we did.
I traversed the mighty hills once again, tracing the same route back that I had taken earlier that day. It was nice to cruise back home in the daylight, even in some bad weather, and I enjoyed looking about for another round of waterfall season. They had indeed sprouted, shimmering water and plumes crashing over rocks and logs,all the while racing through the redwoods. Sometimes there would be a mist, sometimes not. You actually could feel a primordial essence all around. It didn't take long to figure out where that feeling had risen from, for I was soon to have an encounter with the Wizard in the Woods..................
Local legend has it that the Wizard in the Woods is a rarely seen being from the water realm. Rising in a mist from the creek waters he calls home, the Wizard is not too keen on people meddling in his forest, and is even less keen on them if he thinks someone has spied on him. In fact, it has been said, he turns downright grouchy when he encounters mere mortals. In times past, tales of a mushroom picker or deer murderer who have stumbled upon the great Wizard have been told. With a deft wave of his ethereal arm, more that a few have been turned into little amphibious creatures that generally get squished by a passing tire. On this Sunday past, it appeared that it was about to became my turn.
Slowly rounding a tight curve, the Wizard stood about 50 feet away from me. He was tall, and I mean he was REAAAALLLLLLLL tall, like about thirty feet! Towering high above my head, he was wearing a white cloak of mist that rose from a waterfall, one that covered him from head to toe, and I could see from the way his broad shoulders moved as he raised his mist shrouded arms that he was about to cast a spell of some sort. Now knowing that when a 30 foot tall wizard is about to cast a spell, it is not a good idea to remain in the immediate vicinity, I chose the most logical alternative. Quickly checking to see if I had any magical chicken legs or potions in my jacket pocket, I found only an old rolling paper, leading me to switch to plan B. I fled. Of course, I did snap a photo, then I got the hell away from there before anything bad happened! A day has since gone by, and with no newly developed webbed feet or hands, I think I made a good get away. (Sure, running sounds chicken, but would YOU have stayed around to be zapped into a frog or something? Not me!)
