Remember the old seafarer’s tale about our haunted forests? Out from boats drifting in the sound at night, it was said, they could hear ghosts, like horrified children, screaming from the hills covered in black-green forests. These forests are full of wild imaginations. The lightless trees take on a menacing tonality when completely surrounded by them, and the matches have all been extinguished nastily by sudden gusts of directionless wind, after the flash light bulb burned out with a central pop. Hear scary stories constantly and search for divinations in the dark forest that seems to be waiting patiently, so patiently, to consume my body and house. The vines have already crept along the foundation, the black berries encroaching on shaggy grass lawn, leaves fallen indicated later by dead spots of brown grass in the spring returning sunshine.
The people in the tiny sea vessel feared landing on shore here for fear of being torn apart by apparitions or vengeful native tribesmen. Screams came in bunches, bounding toward the sea. They continue home to their fishing village miles away, fearful of dark shapes underneath the surface of the water, additionally, the Puget Sound is environmentally considered for the ideal location of all kinds of giant, ancient creatures, and migratory patterns to and from breeding grounds with a longer history than the Olympic Mountains. We disturb them with our wake, they look at each other.
The sea monsters are real but the children-screams turn out to be packs of yipping coyotes. Life is more dense underwater. More atoms slamming against one and other.