In honor of his memory, I'd like to retell a story that Henry had shared with me over a case of beer, while sitting around and shooting the shit on a hot summer's afternoon. It got under my skin then, and it still does to this very day. Stories like this makes me wonder, sometimes, about how much we really know about the natural world around us. The deep woods are much like the primordial forest of the human psyche - both are dense with gloom and shadows ... who's to say what might lurk in their inky depths?
It was a year and a half ago, and we were right in the middle of a long, humid Elgin County summer.
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