You wouldn’t think it was still January. It could have been spring. Early spring. Almost frozen, but edging toward thaw. I kept feeling the urge to lift clumps of dead leaves to look for the little green shoots. Looking for “Jack in the Green”.We walked along the high cliffs. Torrents fell from red and brown broken stone. Our clothing’s once warm barrier soaked through and gave way. We got very wet and very cold. Thankfully numbness and distraction protects you. You hear rattles and slaps in all directions. Tapping drops on high oak leaves. A distant call of a crow.

We created new paths to avoid the water soaked frozen stone steps. No one fell, but everyone slipped. Mud oozed into boot treads. I got water up my nose. Gryphon’s eyelids dripped and stuck together.

We hopped into the Jeep and removed our wet layers. The heater could not work fast enough. We bounced into our gravel driveway and ran for the house. Clothing flew in all directions. We grabbed blankets and sleeping bags and huddled on the couch under a big psychedelic fabric mountain as our cheeks began to burn.

Then Mary put the kettle on. . .

- d

Related Posts:

1. desolate and honest
2. What Adventure Means
3. September Rain
4. On Trak In Chicago
5. Little Storms Unleashed