Back in June 2016, I started a new "series" of posts... if you will... 
 And so on Wednesdays; I've been posting an old photograph to inspire your creativity.
Write a poem!   
 Plot out a short story.
 Have inspiration for a piece of art or composition.... let your artistic soul shine.
--and occasionally I write my own sordid story or poem. 
 (you can click on the photos in this post to make it larger to see).


This is Woodrow Wilson Webber (known as "Woodie" to his friends).
He was named after the president, in hopes that it would give him strength of character and leadership skills. Woodie was strong alright... and folks considered him a character, but probably not in the same context his parents had hoped. He was smart, and had a sharp whit... but most folks, thought Woodie was a little "touched."
It had started innocently enough. Woodie was a simple guy, and he loved hunting, fishing, and being in the woods. It was on such a hunting expedition (he was looking for ducks)... that he came upon what he thought was a plane crash deep in the swamps outside of town. Upon closer inspection though, he realized that this was not a typical plane. Fact is, he'd never seen anything like it before... as he circled around its' humming lights and concave shape. Then he saw a rustling in the grasses.
What he saw, he could only describe to townsfolk as "alien"... not that they believed him anyway.
Big eyes, long limbs, waxy "skin" that defied color attribution.
He helped the being up... took him to the ship... and moments later... it was all over.
It was gone... in a flash. No trails in the sky... no marks left in the dirt.
Had he dreamed it? No.. it seemed too real.
And then, there were the burn marks on his hands from helping the being... what was that about?
Oh... they healed alright... but the effect they had on Woodie wouldn't go away.
He was determined to learn about these beings. He read every book in the library.
He talked to everyone he could. But most folks would just shake their heads and walk away.
He started a chapter of like-minded individuals. They went to conferences... they studied other "supposed" landing sites.
Eventually, he moved to the southwest USA, to further his insatiable desire to learn more...
Truth be told, no one really knows what happened to Woodie.
Some folks assume he died, some folks think he moved on to somewhere else... Machu Picchu maybe?
Other believed he simply "went home" with his waxy skinned friends.
That he was somewhere "out there" protecting them with his trusty 22 gauge and his cowboy whit...
 a sort of Cowboy for the stars...