Backpacker's Midnight

Maybe this isn't about reflection.  Maybe this isn't about a soul search, like an anger in loose soil.  Maybe im being forced into rudimentary; daylight, footsteps, food, daylight and bears crashing through saplings. 

I was nervous about the free time.  Would the nightmare factory start its carnival ride and bury me?  No.  Instead I'm sitting on a log somewhere in Vermont listening to the wind tear at the trees; tent set up, water purifying, looking forward to chicken soup and hit chocolate.

There are eight people in the shelter tonight.  The company is nice and there's a ton for me to learn.  Thirty days...

I guess what im walking away from and walking toward will blur together because im smart enough to know thatyou never really walk away.  Sometimes you carry it,  as they say in AA, like a loose garment, and sometimes the rope bites sharply against your throat.  I haven't felt the rope since I left.


I slept as well as I ever sleep last night, tucked tightly into my tent with my backpack snugged up tight against me.  The morning was a little bit rough.  My pack is too small and biting into my neck.  Poor me.  Its 8:12, backpackers midnight so ill keep this short. 

I wanted to take a second to thank Bethany for letting me walk with her down the spirit breaking stone "steps" to route 9 in Bennington.  Thanks, too, for the hug when I told you why I was walking.  Im not big on karma or "things happening for a reason" but he evidence has been quickly piling up against me.  Tomorrow ill talk about burned soup, knot tying, and mice running across my sleeping bag.  Nighty night.