Once the sun set, the stars were hung brightly in the sky. In the morning I woke after a hard, cold slumber, ready to tally a few more miles off the Buffalo R Trail.
The woods were somber today, though the red-headed woodpeckers’ calls loud and shrill. My mind kept quiet until it didn’t— I poured pen to paper as quickly as realization came.
Weeks-past sit like a faint cloud at the edge of my mind. We often put far too much stock in our unreliable memories. Is it not true that each stepping stone along the dried up riverbed is just as important as the thousands that came before?