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Skinny Arno

Honking geese flocked south, and birch trees shed swarms of golden leaves, and the cool Baltic breeze raked the hermit's berry patch. The hermit set aside his axe, wiped his sweaty brow, and stretched his old joints. From the weedy creek-side path came soft footfalls and the scrunching of leaves. The hermit retrieved his axe and pondered his gumption to split a human skull, but his visitor was not even human, just his neighbor Skinny Arno.