Four inches of snow fell overnight, a favorable amount compared to the possible foot. Trees sagged under the weight of a late winter offering. They shuddered snow in the wind as we threw snowballs at loaded branches over each other’s heads.

The miles were slower in the snow but no one seemed to mind. A blue sky snuck out from behind low hanging clouds for a couple of hours, blessing us with shadows and warmth. The mud was mostly avoided yet still resulted in soaked-through shoes.

Camp is a cluster of tents and tarps, occupants tucked between finely fluffed feathers. The sun set just after 6:30 to an orange audience. A world smoldering in pandemic panic and this is where we get to be.

Knots –

Brian Cornell

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