I live in Sleepy Hollow Country. Horse country. Lush, green, rolling farmlands interspersed with great groves of trees. As you drive along the roads at night, mist rises and fills the hollows and valleys, creeping along the lines of the old stone farm walls. There are no other cars, and the houses are huddled and silent under the blanket of fog. Sometimes, I'll stop, roll down my window and stare into the night. The moonlight floods the air with silver, reflecting off the droplets of haze suspended in the air. All is silent, eerie and breathtakingly beautiful. On nights like this, the Headless Horseman becomes more than just a tale to frighten children. He becomes one with the atavistic fear and awe that comes bubbling up from the pit of the stomach. He comes riding out of the night, his horse as black as sin and his hand held out in greeting.
We have lived here for over fifteen years. Lately, the old wanderlust has descended upon me like a storm. It tears at my complacency, makes me nervous and I become frustrated with this place. I see the shortcomings of this semi-rural life. I grow annoyed at the invasion of Yuppies, searching for a more peaceful life, bringing with them a level of faux gentrification. The slow, unchanging routine of life that I once found so soothing now annoys me. I miss the ever changing palette of the city.
Then, all at once, I glimpse the mystery again. Under it all, the mushrooming McMansions and shining new stores, I see the true nature of this place. The wild nature. The dangerous, eldrich nature.
I stop my car, roll down my window, and stare into the night. I'm glad I don't have to walk home. There are things out there, just beyond my sight, things that have no respect for the tidiness of the modern world. It makes me glad.