Jabberleafy

It wasn't quite brillig. I had decided to wander the streets of Logan, and I had decided to do my ambling late at night. I've always considered myself to be a somewhat nocturnal creature. The beamish light of the sun is like acid to already red skin. The midday heat is enough to gimble my erstwhile thoughts.

I had been gallumphing about for perhaps an hour, maybe more. Sprinklers burbled water onto the turf. They gyred to moisten each blade of grass. Earlier, I had walked by a gas station--open 24 hours--thinking I just might obtain a snicker-snack. I was hungry as a rath, you see. The only food that truly qualifies as a snack is junk food, so I considered my options there. I chortled at the thought of paying two dollars for a box of Dots. I left the gas station, wending my way far from the strangely ominous lights casting their blinding fury over the road. Frumious, I headed back to my frabjous abode.

The tulgey darkness enveloped me. The only lights I could see came from the small screen of my iPod and the green glow of the semaphore at the intersection near my apartment. I paused for a moment; I could see something moving. Was it some manxome opponent lying in wait--a Bandersnatch crouching low, ready to ambush me and steal my three dollars? Or was it perhaps a Jubjub bird cowering in the slithy patch of bushes in front of which I was about to perambulate?

At this point, I must say that I do not condone moving toward a strange figure, especially if it is dark outside. However, I was curious, a suitable excuse for silly behavior. I walked toward the silent, moving thing. It looked mimsy, mournful, as if it were digging in the ground, looking for a friend who had passed on. I briefly considered that this thing may have been a tove in search of his sundial. I continued to move closer to this . . . thing. Did it have a beak? Claws? Eyes? I couldn't tell.

It seemed to look at me, yet it seemed to pay me no mind. It shivered and quaked. I turned down the volume of my music in case the creature outgrabe. It didn't. It continued silently with its work. From across the street, a minor, narrow street (at that distance, I should have been able to tell what I was seeing), I peered at it. Its identity still eluded me. From this distance, mome, locked in the swollen darkness, my sense of unease grew. . . I had no vorpal blade with which to defend myself.

Still, I crossed the streat, positively determined to procure the identity of this intrusion into my nightly stroll. The little white light from the traffic signal beckoned me forward. I got to the sidewalk and realized what it was I had been afraid of for nearly two city blocks: a bush.

There would be no "Calloohs!" to celebrate victory over my foe. There would be no "Callays!" to signal my triumphant return home. There was no Jabberleaf, no beast's head to carry back. I walked home, happy to find it nestled peacefully in the wabe, and went to sleep.

IN PLAIN ENGLISH: I was walking around Logan. I walked to a gas station to get some food but changed my mind. I was walking back home when I saw this creepy-ass thing in front of me. I'm not usually prone to ridiculous flights of fancy, but this thing freaked me the fuck out. It was moving, but I couldn't tell if it was human, or even alive. Perhaps stupidly, I kept moving toward it. Even a few feet from it, I wasn't sure what it was. Finally, I realized it was a bush. However, I'm pretty sure it was a bush possessed by Satan himself. That bush made an impression. I saw it a few days ago, and I can still see it in my head now. I haven't been so weirded out in a long time. So there it is. Oh, and I ripped off a bunch of words from Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky," the poem, not his. . . uh. . . other Jabberwocky.