Down from the Mountain

Since my first posting on April 4, I have driven three days from California to Arkansas and hiked four days.  Resting now at a motel in Clarksville, any motel is luxury. 

Having set camp beside a creek, I wait for the sun to set on the babble and the birdsong.

The sun has set.  I slide back to camp through the gradual dusk.  Inside my tent, I’m like a pupa in cocoon, trapped in a straitjacket sleeping bag.  They call these lightweight accommodations mummy bags for their tight fit, like an Egyptian princess in strapped passage to the afterworld.

The view from this high camp stretches across rows of mountains, each paler than the last until the final ranks become indistinguishable from sky.

Here is where the trail map says to cross Frog Bayou—waist deep, fast-moving, slippery rocks, but at least the water wasn’t cold.  It’s not the best of trails for ease of walking, but at least I didn’t get lost.

Plenty of flowers turned out for my coming, this early spring.  Trees are leafing out in the lowlands, but on the ridges, stems are mostly bare.  

I will come back to thinking about these rocks, part from book learning and part from feeling their solid history, as the lichens that cling to them.  It will take a few more days to get to know them. 

Morning is the best time for anyone wanting to feel the day before it is fully prepared—birds , bears, squirrels, .  

I will stay here in Clarksville, Arkansas, several nights, day-hiking sections of the trail.  I hope to send a posting each evening.  Please tell me if anything seems worth reading or if any questions come to mind.  Comment here on the blog or answer the email that led you here.