All movement, flitting from point to point, busy eyes detecting, darting and weaving - intent, sharp, on alert - noticing everything happening in the Hollow - too much - such a bizarre mixture pouring in amid the shadows & colors - his thoughts race…
Look at that bunch! Actually running here! In their little outfits! It’s been a warm Indian Summer day, yes, but the temperature is dropping and the fog is starting to roll in. Don’t they know? Don’t they care? Look, they have separated and gone on by different paths. Oh no, that creep notices them, too. Better keep an eye on her, the lovely one.
Glaring at the loner hiding in the dark corner by the huge oak, he hurries after the woman, both disappearing down the hill.
Alarmed by new movements breaking the pattern before him, roused from his favorite spot of reflection by this sudden influx - the familiar one alway buzzing about, the odd assembly forming at the intersection, the old farts launched on yet another noble mission by the incessant chatter they can’t turn off - all transpiring before him - my how the twists and turns here never end - what a hoot they all are - who needs tv or internet - this is my entertainment - he muses as he can’t contain his merriment - must be the witches and goblins - mmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmm - he doesn’t try to restrain his sing song humming - in perfect with the winds now stirring canopy of colors of the ancient trees.
He decides to move on, as well - giving his own glacial chase of the rest of the runners, who have also disappeared down another path, just as the sudden shift in the atmosphere take hold - the riot of hues of the late day sun off of the leaves and wide range of architecturally rich structures all about the hollow the no longer sleep - uniquely in full view from this particularly, especially from the deck high atop the olde stone tower - all is swiftly becoming lost in the influx of mists so typical of this place.
