No Where Steps
December 23rd 2007 04:12
Early this morning, pre-coffee and post alarm clock tossing. I stumbled towards the kitchen while still only semi conscience and yet full of hopeful desire to unravel the mysteries of basic coffee building. The braille method of navigation seemed to be working well for me. Occasionally, in brief spurts, I even experienced ocular clarity during that long, long journey towards the center of my focus; full entry into the kitchen.
During the course of one such spurt, something prompted this sleep walker to look out the front door window, to see with his own sleep crust covered eyes, what was really cooking outside. It sounded like it was raining. It turned out that it was only the snow melting and spewing over the edges of blocked and overflowing rain gutters to drip upon the decks and rails of the porch. It seems that we were experiencing a warming spell, it had gotten up to 34f, and now I was going to be serenaded all morning with the sound of dripping waters. Great, just great. Those coffee urges were suddenly becoming more than compelling, they'd drifted towards the realm of overwhelming need.
Turning to take the remaining few steps into the kitchen sanctuary, I absently tripped the light switch and was startled, the view outside looked odd. So, coffee momentarily forgotten, I surveyed the view; a single set of footprints trailed through the snow to our doors. Which were securely locked and I didn't remember any visitors. Physically inspecting the area, there were no exiting footprints and no guests had been received. Getting to my camera, I took the photo posted. Through some mechanical process, the coffee was made in the coffee press near the sink, which has a full view of the porch and the enigmatic footprints.
Tisha, smelling the coffee, came bounding in to the kitchen like some happy energetic diva from television land to claim her share of the amber nectar. I showed her the footprints, and she became oddly quiet. Retiring to the living room to sip coffee and ponder the events of the prior few minutes. We both sat, still and quiet, sipping. Tisha finally spoke, "...this is starting to scare me a little," and all I could do was nod my head in affirmation.
The reality of those footprints were rife with potential; haunting, ghosts, pranksters, grays, time travelers or what? Then, thankfully the coffee and its wonderful caffeine kicked into high gear, my eyes opened, the sun came out for 30 seconds and sanity reared its sweet head. We'd solved the mystery and the hair on the back of our necks started lying down again.
We had gone to the store the day before, brought home a huge pile of junk food and movies to get us through the weekend. You have to be prepared for any conceivable contingency here in cold country. When we arrived home, Tisha went through the front door, and into the garage and opened the overhead doors, and we carried everything into the house from the car through the garage. We then closed the doors and locked ourselves in for the weekend and forgot the incident.
When we viewed the footprints the next morning, they were larger than normal because the warm weather had melted her prints into a distorted larger set of tracks. It'd triggered our sleepy pre-coffee imaginations and we then allowed them to run amok. Makes you wonder how often perceptions have failed other paranormal observers doesn't it???
Or worse, we and our groceries had been carried into the house; much like the poem suggests in "Footprints in the Sand". Cue in eerie music.
Raven
During the course of one such spurt, something prompted this sleep walker to look out the front door window, to see with his own sleep crust covered eyes, what was really cooking outside. It sounded like it was raining. It turned out that it was only the snow melting and spewing over the edges of blocked and overflowing rain gutters to drip upon the decks and rails of the porch. It seems that we were experiencing a warming spell, it had gotten up to 34f, and now I was going to be serenaded all morning with the sound of dripping waters. Great, just great. Those coffee urges were suddenly becoming more than compelling, they'd drifted towards the realm of overwhelming need.
Turning to take the remaining few steps into the kitchen sanctuary, I absently tripped the light switch and was startled, the view outside looked odd. So, coffee momentarily forgotten, I surveyed the view; a single set of footprints trailed through the snow to our doors. Which were securely locked and I didn't remember any visitors. Physically inspecting the area, there were no exiting footprints and no guests had been received. Getting to my camera, I took the photo posted. Through some mechanical process, the coffee was made in the coffee press near the sink, which has a full view of the porch and the enigmatic footprints.
Tisha, smelling the coffee, came bounding in to the kitchen like some happy energetic diva from television land to claim her share of the amber nectar. I showed her the footprints, and she became oddly quiet. Retiring to the living room to sip coffee and ponder the events of the prior few minutes. We both sat, still and quiet, sipping. Tisha finally spoke, "...this is starting to scare me a little," and all I could do was nod my head in affirmation.
The reality of those footprints were rife with potential; haunting, ghosts, pranksters, grays, time travelers or what? Then, thankfully the coffee and its wonderful caffeine kicked into high gear, my eyes opened, the sun came out for 30 seconds and sanity reared its sweet head. We'd solved the mystery and the hair on the back of our necks started lying down again.
We had gone to the store the day before, brought home a huge pile of junk food and movies to get us through the weekend. You have to be prepared for any conceivable contingency here in cold country. When we arrived home, Tisha went through the front door, and into the garage and opened the overhead doors, and we carried everything into the house from the car through the garage. We then closed the doors and locked ourselves in for the weekend and forgot the incident.
When we viewed the footprints the next morning, they were larger than normal because the warm weather had melted her prints into a distorted larger set of tracks. It'd triggered our sleepy pre-coffee imaginations and we then allowed them to run amok. Makes you wonder how often perceptions have failed other paranormal observers doesn't it???
Or worse, we and our groceries had been carried into the house; much like the poem suggests in "Footprints in the Sand". Cue in eerie music.
Raven
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Comment by katyzzz
Photography Tips
Health Focus
Poetry Lighthouse
MS Paint Art
I seemed to be being confronted with Harry Potter Mark?, there for a moment or two or simply Shakespeare 'strange happenings are afoot, a foot, get it, oh, I am so smart.
Wish it had been Harry Potter, I'd be up there for a loan.
Love to Tish, what a remarkable woman she is. Anyone who can 'bound' before breakfast and on such a cold morning wins my vote.
katyzzz
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Anyway, alls well that ends well...but, just imagine if your head hadn't cleared enough to remember coming in from the garage!!!!!
What a Chrissy weekend that would have been!
Cheers mate, have a good one!
fog
Comment by tlcorbin
Coffee Quip
A Global Citizen
Paranormal Paranormal
Is Why
Alaska Chronicle
Sleezer's World
Right you are Fog, it was a bowel churning event there for a few minutes. Wow, "mental embroidery", what a great and kind expression. Yeah, the prospect of a house haunted or imprinted by anything other than the memories of a happy family living there is unnerving.
Thank You both for the well wishes. Raven