forty days

So far over the hump now it feels all slippy and downhill. That gravity I’ve written about before pulls more strongly the closer we get to making that singular turn – westward again.

Dramatic, yes, since that turn is still some forty days away. Forty days more in the wilderness. To contemplate and relish, to consider and calculate. May they go slow, dripping languid with a full twenty four.

So much still to see and do, to breathe in and taste. Shirts yet to soak in sweat and shoes to muddy, bites yet to scratch and lament. Inches still to be had on this unruly beard.


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