Spinner’s Tales, May be Fiction or Not
There are a lot of hawks and eagles flying over the little mountain every day. Nine times out of ten they catch a small critter and sometimes a long rattler. The bird of prey will take it’s catch to a large flat rock and eat it right there. If it is a rattler, the hawk or eagle will hook talons just behind the head and a little further back then take it to the rock and and chop it’s head off with its sharp beak. The bird will then fly away with the long headless snake dangling from talons.
The man down the way, at the end of the lane, tells of an eight foot long rattler an eagle caught one day. The rattler was so long and fat the eagle kept dropping it and eventually flew away without the snake. The man said he hiked up, got the rattler and took it home. We asked to see it, but the man said he sliced it up and fried it for his breakfast.
My neighbor told me she was out near the creek walking her dog the other night and saw what she thought was a black bear up top the mountain which is not too far away. It was at dusk, just before the dark night drops down like a curtain. As she stared up at the dark form, it raised up on two feet. Then she thought it was a man with a long dark cloak on. She thinks it was a shapeshifter.
Man or bear, she still ponders on. However, she said it did wave to her afore it turned and walked up over the mountain.
When I lived up in Tacoma, Washington in the Pacific Northwest, I had a friend who was a mountain climber. He and a few of his friends used to climb the Great White Mountain. It was a rugged climb, but they loved it. On one climb they had reached a higher level than ever before and stopped to rest before continuing up. When they were resting a giant bird came swooping down and landed on a boulder above the men. It was the Thunderbird they had heard about in legends. It is a powerful bird, large enough to catch and eat whales. It lives in a cave in the mountain and does not like anyone coming near it’s home.
As the friends stared with fright at the Thunderbird, lightning began flashing from the bird’s eyes and it flapped its wings so hard it sounded like thunder. The three men hurried back down the mountain as fast as Great White Mountain allowed them to and they never went back up there.
These are just a few Spinner’s Tales that may be fiction or not. There are many more I have heard and maybe will publish some occasionally.
© 2019 Phyllis Doyle Burns