Sally and Joe walked along the glowing path of the garden. They were both tired but so happy to have some time to be together. The Christmas lights twinkled around them, creating a colorful wonderland on that cool December night. Thankfully the garden wasn’t crowded either, since it was a weeknight.

Sally looked at her watch. “Are you worried about being late?” Joe asked. “Well, we’re supposed to be there at 7.” “It’s fine if we’re a little late. Come on,” Joe said. His phone dinged but he ignored it.

A rustling sound was heard from behind a group of trees. Joe stopped. “Sheeww,” he said, as his shoulders dropped when he saw that it was just a bunch of leaves that were rustling about. “What, did you think a creature was going to get you?” Sally said, rolling her eyes. “Well you know last time we were here was when I got attacked by bees,” Joe explained. “Yeah, yeah, that was like 15 years ago,” Sally said.

They walked along, passing a few families with small children. Innocent laughter filled the air as did the smell of hot chocolate. Sally touched her low belly.

A couple in front of them stopped suddenly, a small boy standing in front of them. A bushy creature scurried across the path, making its way toward a trash can that had toppled over. “Is that a rabbit?” Sally asked. “A raccoon,” said the man in front of them. The raccoon turned around, oblivious to his onlookers. He emerged from the trashcan holding a paper cup of coffee between his two paws. His toenails, which encircled the cup, looked like daggers. He waddled back across the path as the two families watched him, intrigued. The critter disappeared into the brush. Everyone kept walking.

The raccoon appeared again, a little ways down the path. He walked toward its edge, stopped, and sat. He sipped his cup of coffee and looked up, smiling at Joe and Sally. His smile was painted on his face, like frosting on a cake. Joe and Sally stopped, taking a moment to observe the raccoon. Couples and families walked around them, apparently unaware of the strange site. The raccoon then ran off, into the forest. He dropped his coffee cup, leaving it behind. Joe stepped closer, unable to shake this peculiar encounter.

“You’re getting a little close, man who got attacked by bees last time he went off the path,” whispered Sally. People continued to walk around them, toward the end of the trail. “It’s remarkable,” said Joe quietly, entranced by the raccoon. Sally followed him off the path. The sky grew darker as they moved away from the glow of the Christmas lights. The air seemed to get colder too. Sally quickly noticed what Joe was seeing: a trail of paper coffee cups leading out into the forest.

Suddenly things went pitch black. Sally looked back, not able to see anything, not even the twinkle of the million Christmas bulbs that had just surrounded them. It was unusually quiet, too. She was scared for a moment. She pulled out her i-phone, which was completely dead. A hand grabbed hers. Joe’s. Soft rustling sounds were heard nearby, like raindrops hitting leaves. There was no announcement over the intercom to explain what was going on.

Joe stepped forward and started walking, Sally following, as they were hand-in-hand. Their feet made quiet crackling noises as they walked on twigs and leaves. Joe had an uncanny awareness of the woods, having grown up in rural Tennessee. Sally could barely see the outline of little paper cups among the leaves. After walking a little ways in the pitch black, they both stopped. “Look,” he said softly, tilting his head up. There was a big opening among the trees. They had stopped at a lake. Above it was a cosmos of bright streaks soaring about – a meteor shower  – brightening the sky more spectacularly than the Christmas lights they had just seen. Sally was mesmerized, as was Joe. He stood behind her, his arms around her waist, as they both stood on the lake shore looking up into the sky with wonder. It was all they could see. And there was complete silence.

Morning came. They found themselves in a cave, nestled under a sheepskin blanket. The air was cool and strangely smelled of strong, dark coffee. “Here,” said Joe, handing Sally a cup of piping hot coffee. They sat at the entrance of the cave and drank, observing the rising sun as it dispelled the fog around them. They scanned their surroundings and noticed high in a tree above a heap of gray and black fur. Two eyes appeared from it, then a bunch of teeth, consuming the face in a friendly smile. Four little furry ones slept around the big one. Then the raccoon closed its eyes and buried its head.

Less than a year later, Sally held her infant son against her chest with one arm and held the newspaper in her other hand. “Raccoon population declining” read the headline. “The Botanical Gardens, once home to the critters, says people were afraid to visit after seeing so many of them. Spokesman Dave Emmons: “We had no choice but to capture ones that came too close to our displays and plants. They destroyed our Christmas lights show last year when they chewed through our wires. It cost the park thousands of dollars.”

From that time on, Sally and Joe took regular hikes out to that magical lake and to the cave. They brought their son and left their phones behind. They did not see another meteor shower or a raccoon but did observe the stars regularly as well as eagles and deer and an array of beautiful trees. ~