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By JESSE POND
Rappahannock Newt Contributing Writer
The other afternoon, just after sunset, I took a slow walk up the road in one of the hollows, just to settle my dinner and think a little in a quiet spot.
At one of the bridges over the little stream, I stopped and sat on the bridge rail for a moment. 1 had hardly got settled when I felt that someone was there looking at me, so I turned around, and sure enough, there was a man sitting on a stump mostly hidden in shadow.
Startled, I said, “Hello,” and as I looked I thought he was one of our neighbors, but on closer look it was not he. The man replied with a pleasant voice, his accent somewhat reminding me of Ireland, “Hello yourself, and a pleasant evenin’ to you.” As we exchanged pleasantries 1 had difficulty in making out his face or even his clothing, as dark was falling fast. He seemed to be wearing a green flight jacket.
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