“Food fighhhhhhhhhhhhhhtttttttttttt….”
The ancient war cry echoed from the Bacon Hills, rolled uphill along the Ecru Mountains, faded out when it entered a tunnel around the East Emmet Parkway, but was picked up again on the other side, and eventually made its way to the incredibly huge, messy, overgrown, bug-infested, termite-riddled, weed-choked, pockmarked, blighted, seen-better-days Forest of Canned Corn. All-in-all Canned Corn was as good an argument for clear cutting as most folks had ever seen, but all the creatures, great and small, that dwelt there liked its low-maintenance charms and were proud to call it home.
The cry eventually wafted into the one garden spot in all of Canned Corn, the Niblet Grove. And once again shadowy forms dancing through the trees of the Niblet lifted their heads in alarm and anticipation:
“That nasty man is fighting again, Preciousssss,“
“That bad, bad man, Snookums!”
“He hurts all those poor, poor fried food vendors, Sweetums!.”
“And he eats bacon with his fingers, Puff!”
“C’mon, let’s go tell the Old, Wise One that he’s coming!”
And with that the entire band of ghostly forms leapt and pranced through the treetops until they came to the very center of the Niblet. There they stood at the top of a high hill, where one ancient, twisted, gnarly punky, mold-covered, infested tree lifted whatever limbs it had left to the sky.
Dancing in a circle and lifting their own pudgy, yet graceful limbs in supplication, the mysterious creatures intoned their age-old Awakening Call:
Hi there, Mr. Tree.
We’re very glad to see you.
Wake up Mr. Tree!
It’s daytime can’t you seeeeeee
(Author’s note - To any of our fellow Downers reading this who also grew up in 1960’s Columbus, Ohio: I have just given you a major blast from the past. Enjoy!)
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