I was slowly making my way home from the ICA this morning when, suddenly, behind me, there erupted a whooping and a hollering, the like of which one usually only hears shortly before being attacked by hordes of zombies. Given the fact that I can’t run, let alone escape, I just accepted whatever fate had in store for me.
It reminded me of the slowest buffalo analogy, where it’s the slowest one that falls prey to the lion, so the rest of the herd only has to go a bit faster. Nicktor used to employ this strategy on our cricket days, with me as the slow buffalo.
Anyway, in the woods this morning, there was only me and the approaching noise.
As I walked, I noticed that these mysterious things have re-appeared, hanging on trees and shrubs. Were the two things connected? Are these things zombie warning markers?
The one above is number 5. There were a lot more scattered through the woods. I used to think they were for collecting insects, but there’s no base.
The noise grew louder and I was suddenly surrounded by excited primary school children grasping bits of paper and racing around like squirrels recently emerged from hibernation. And it was definitely hot enough to end hibernation today. Even the old lady who asked if I was cold the other day had taken off her puffy jacket.
I have commented here before how lucky Trosa kids are, having such a wonderland of adventure just outside their school. And how they use it. Today I realised that I had the same sort of childhood. Where I grew up, there was a lot of bushland, a creek and so little traffic that an innings of cricket could be played on our road before being interrupted.
We probably made just as much joyful noise as this lot did, today.
With a sigh of relief, I managed to reach the house, unscathed. Fortunately. I’d promised to make gazpacho for lunch and, had I been inundated by zombies, it would never have happened.
As it was, I made it, chilled it then we both enjoyed it. Very refreshing.
