You see, I was walking down the tractor trail along this huge, long cornfield. It happened that sunset and moonrise were at the same time that night, and with MR — I mean Mercury Retrograde (I can say it now) in full swing, I was prepared for anything.
Or so I thought.
As the huge moon crested over a barn in the far distance (a real Kodak moment), I started to hear strange sounds from the center of the cornfield. Now, mind you, the corn is really only stubble; 4-5 inches max. So I should have noticed something strange down the row from the get-go. But you know me — into the Goddess “thing” and blah blah blah-ing to the moon about writing and getting published and all that, I just didn’t notice.
I didn’t notice a gathering of moving things dancing in a circle.
Now, you know me. I’m more pretzel than logic, and my creativity takes me to places I’ve never been before. But I was standing on a dirt road all by myself a quarter mile from home, so I instantly switched to my logic gear (also known as survival mode).
I stood very still, trying to figure out what the commotion was. If it was a band of gypsies or satan worshipers, I was gonna take off faster than Dale Earnhardt. But the “gathering” wasn’t tall at all. Not like human beings. Not even tall enough to be kids.
No — the noise was coming from something no bigger than a cat.
Wolves, I thought. Coyotes. Eating, devouring their prey. Howling and growling and sacrificing to the Strawberry Moon. I felt adrenelin flush my whole body. Yet I had to know. Curiosity was suddenly my deadly companion. So C and I tip-toed closer to the group making all the noise.
All I could hear was, “Mrrrro brrrreeerrr Mrrrrro! Mrrrrro breeerrrr Mrrrro!” Over and over. Chanting. A mantra. Surely they were calling up the spirits of the Strawberry! I would be a gonner if I wandered any closer. But, you know me. I couldn’t resist.
Louder and louder they chanted. The moon kept rising, bigger, fuller, flushed with red, not unlike the Strawberry it was named after. The cold wind blew around me, bringing goosebumps to my under-dressed body. But the chanting got louder and louder.
What in the #($*#@ was going on?
Suddenly the chanting reached its pinnacle, and all in one voice they screamed, “MRRRRO BEEERRRRZZZ MRRRROOOOO!” The moon shook, the wind swirled in a final tornado, and suddenly 7 or 8 cats ran off into the night!
They had been dancing around something half buried between two corn stubs. I was terrified. But I had wandered this far — what could it have been?? Stumbling over the last few rows of corn, smashing a stalk or two (sorry, farmer John), I saw what the commotion had been about.
Half buried in the dirt was a little dark blue football, a big orange “C” facing the Strawberry Moon that now had turned orangy itself. And I knew.
Go Bears Go.
The Chicago Bears needed all the help they could get…
(I told you there was a story there somewhere….)