Sixty-eight

SMOKY

I loved to sleep in the woods.

Before a trip, I’d roll out my topo maps on the dining room table. Bordeaux in hand, I’d plan my escapes. The planning was half the fun. Create my supply list, plan the meals. Estimate daily mileage.

Packed and ready, I’d plunge deep into the woods and leave all my worries behind.

I’d drift past flame azalea, towering hemlock and cool my swollen feet in icy cold streams.

One time I climbed to a big grassy field atop the Appalachian Trail. I went up there looking for God. Found myself instead.

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