When Sasquatch ventured back again
The scoop shovel was standing straight up on end
It stood there straight, it stood there bold
When he tried to grab it, only his shadow took hold
“Strange, is it true? Am I only a legend, a story told?”
“A mythical creature like Skinwalkers of old?”
After he couldn’t get the scoop
He wondered what he would tell the group
Are they real or surreal or just mythical beings
Stradling dimensions, mostly unseen
By humans stuck between two and fourth
Who sometimes get a sighting as he slips between floors
An anomaly that ripples space and time’s clear hue
A slight tear in the fabric that offers a view
Whether the story is true or simply belied
As the Sasquatch scoop shovel saga unfolds
So go discoveries in darkness and cold

“Sasquatch can slip through dimensions and grab kitties for breakfast? We think you need to leave Sasquatch be Paparazzo I am, and fix us a plate of green eggs and ham!”

Marble: “I’m not afraid of no stinking inter-dimensional Sasquatch! Spunk will whip Sasquatch with his tail, make art out of him, and then kick his butt again!”

Sunrise

Cranes in the evening