[or-roots] Into the Eys of the Setting Sun (Se-wal-a-wal)

[DAVIESW739 at aol.com]

Back of our house was the swamp where Se-wal-a-wal was buried. My folk were  
from the south and I'd often heard the stories about the "dismal swamps" and 
of  runaway Negroes who had escaped to them, and of dangerous plants that 
sucked  one's blood and puff adders and water moccasins, so I had absorbed quite a  
profound respect for swamps in general. That ours was really only a bit of a  
swale, that we had neither water moccasins or runaway Negroes, did not really 
 make a lot of difference. There was always a chance and unusual things 
happened  to me most every day, and besides I had been suspicious that far worse 
things  than water moccasins might be in that swamp.
Mossy old maple trees grew there and Father used to drag them  up for winter 
wood. I had seen the half rotted, wet roots in the nighttime, with  the 
phosphorescent glow from them, lighting the whole wood yard into something  that 
sent shivers up and down my back. Father said it was only "foxfire" and  that 
there was nothing in our swamp to be afraid of except live Indians and old  
Se-wal-a-wal. I do not remember ever troubling about Se-wal-a-wal. and of  course, 
I was not afraid of our live Indians. They were very good to me and I  liked 
them. Since then I have often seen the "foxfire" and while I was not  afraid of 
it, I never liked it.
Walt  Davies
Cooper Hollow Farm
Monmouth, OR 97361
503 623-0460 

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