Once upon a dreary dawn I happened to take a walk through Wolf Haven International’s prairie.

The eerie fog did not dissuade me from my journey.

My destination, the Grandfather Tree, was in sight and my outing would not be cut short by unfounded fears.

Through the swirling fog I could make out white shapes in the distance.

I turned, running for the parking lot, but there were more apparitions behind me.

Innumerable spirits were peeking out at me from behind the mysterious mounds. A howl picked up across the prairie. Was it the truly wolves, or could it be the souls of departed pocket gophers who had untimely deaths?

I turned; there, on the path in front of me were more of the ghostly figures.

Not wanting to be bested by otherworldly things I have no belief in, I sprinted towards the nearest specter. Alas, I found that the prairie haunting was merely trash bags tied to sticks, to scare ravens away from tearing out the newly plugged native prairie plants.