Roaming Chickens

Behind my childhood church in Anderson, Indiana, lie acres of woodland. These woods feature trails leading to cabins, gazebos, a secret bench, named Meditation Point, overlooking a ridge and creek, and a hidden lake in a clearing amid the trees. A few locals know about the lake, but not enough to draw a crowd. 

I stroll along a trail toward the church when I reach a fork. One path leads to the church, the other ascends a hill to a gazebo. I spot my dad hiking on the latter. I stop to converse with him. As we talk, I glance into the woods and notice he's set up a small chicken coop, complete with fencing, a henhouse, and roaming chickens.

As my dad and I talk, I glance up toward the gazebo, only to find it gone. In its place now lie a few small boulders. Things have changed since I was here last.

I wake up