Howard didn’t plan his foray into the forest; it was impulsive. He stepped out of his apartment as dusk deepened, and there, well risen, was a nearly-full moon. It was a balmy June evening, shirt-sleeve weather; nature beckoned.

Two hundred yards from the Harmony Acres retirement community, a state forest was laced with a network of walking trails. Howard, like many of his neighbors, had spent many sunny days in that verdant preserve. Few if any ventured out after dark, but why not? So bright a moon made it surely safe.

He stepped back inside to spray himself with an insect repellent, and was almost finished when it ran dry. He thought about a flashlight, but the one by the door, long untouched, offered only a feeble glow. He might have looked for fresh batteries, but didn’t think he had any. Never mind; hardly needed. A sweater in case the evening grew chilly? No, if so, he’d just come home.

So, taking his hiking staff, off he went. The first bench along the trail was only a few minutes from the apartment complex. Too near; the moonlight was ample to allow him farther into the forest. He was glad he’d brought the staff, though: The hardened-earth path, occasionally softened by rain and rutted by muddy feet, was far from smooth. Also, the moonlight waned as he ventured into a stand of taller trees; it was spotty at best.

The next bench was perfect, though, in a vest-pocket clearing that admitted shafts of moonlight. He sat down, took a few deep breaths, folded his hands and waited for the night to envelop him.

A bird began to call: not far away, although it was hard to judge distance. Many years ago, he and Mabel had been birders, able to identify two dozen or so by ear. Most of those birdsongs had long escaped memory, but this was easy: whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, it sang.

Howard smiled. “Hope you attract a mate, guy!” he thought. The insistence of the call began to feel melancholic. He found himself wishing Mabel were still here, and was glad when it ceased.

Whoo-Whoo! An owl’s hoot startled him. Barred? Great horned? Barn? Not a screech owl, surely, but beyond that he had no clue. Suddenly the hooting ceased, followed by the unmistakable whoosh, whoosh of great wings. He looked up too late for identify it, but glimpsed a dim shape disappearing into the treetops, almost ghostly.

He wondered if the whippoorwill had fallen silent to avoid the owl’s finding him. Finding, and eating him. Ugly thought.

Anyway, both were quiet now. Softer forest sounds crept into the silence: buzzing, whispering. Then the whine of a mosquito. He hoped the spray was still working.

One of his Harmony Acre neighbors, he recalled, put a motion-triggered camera out here a few years ago, then showed the resulting short video clips on the house TV system. What wildlife had appeared? Deer, rabbits, a bobcat; a coyote-dog. No bears; only recently had they begun wandering into populated areas. Still, there might be bears out here now.

Damn! The spray must be evaporating. It took iron-willed determination not to slap the insect he could feel on his left wrist. A loud slap would surely frighten away any wildlife.

The thought made him wonder: How silent are animals? Out in the darkness were unidentifiable little scratchy sounds. Perhaps just leaves stirring? Or toads? Rabbits? Even that whippoorwill? Deer?

Deer must walk silently lest they be attacked. So predators must stalk silently, too, or they’d never catch anything to eat. Anything to eat? Damn! Why had his brain come up with that? Now it gnawed at his imagination: Predators eat what they catch.

What was that!? A sound to his left, surely different from leaf-whispers or murmurs. He wished he’d taken the few minutes to find fresh batteries; it would be good to have a flashlight. He peered in the direction from which that sound had come. No, it had stopped now. Something waiting? The moonlight was so foliage-dappled over there that it hardly reached the forest floor.

Still trying to make no sound himself, he carefully lifted his walking staff and took it in both hands. If it came to that, could he fend off a bobcat with it? A coyote-dog? He tried to practice a few wide sweeps. Probably couldn’t repel even a raccoon, let alone a bear.

He should have brought a noisemaker. If encountering a bear, he’d read, one should make noise and stare at it while backing to safer ground. There must by an old-fashioned whistle somewhere at home. Or that thing given out last New Year’s that made rattly noises as you spun it? That would be perfect!

Lovely out here in the moonlight, yes, but perhaps it was time to start back. There was now a hint of chill in the air. Yes, start back.

He stumbled on the hummocky path and twice nearly fell, saved by his walking-staff. That made him slow down until he came out into the meadow and again, finally, full moonlight.

A nice walk, he told himself; he would suggest friends try it. Commune with nature. Nothing better than a forest stroll under a lambent moon.

But bring a flashlight.

And a noisemaker.

                                                 -End-