The River of Souls.
Willow and I followed the road west. It was twisted and busy. Folks heading to the resort in the mountains. When we got to the resort we kept going. Trying to put the light behind us in an attempt to get realigned with the stars.
There was very little snow even at higher elevations, much more on the east side of the valley where we feel more comfortable. Probably could have gone straight to Jumbo. I ain’t afraid of ghosts, it’s the living that scare the shit out of me. I was afraid to see Oberti, Morrow, Deck and Bergenske having a wiener roast talking over how they can keep milking it.
Pleiades in the creek bottom.
It was all the jets going over that reminded me of those jokers. I hate jets, blinking across the sky, interrupting the stars, it pisses me off we even thought of such a way of transportation. Maybe it’s the abuse of such an invention that bothers me. It’s either flying fattened business people across the globe or the above mentioned dipshits to their desired destinations, where they consider themselves explorers, but the locals know they are only annoying tourists.
It was tempting to turn up Delphine. Even in summer the road quickly turns to shit.
But I ain’t young. -16°c feels cold in these early days of winter. I’m getting older and running off the road and walking out doesn’t appeal to me.
The snow will be deeper in no time, cutting off the bush. Best to make hay while the sun shines.