Indian Valley

The shoulder of the road has been given up to snow and ice. Rt. 113 tires the spirit without the pack, and miles. Cars and trucks stare me down until I am again in the bank with my boots drinking their fill where the gaters have riden up. In the evening, too far from the trees that become my home, I am in a very large town. A tricked out SUV pulls up with a couple of intimidating black men slowly looking me over on a street with no lights. The passenger leans over his friend, "Hey man, are you walking this whole country," he asks with a voice that sounded as indifferent as if he was asking for directions to a place he really didn't care if he made it to?
"Yes I am," I answered simply.
His face exploded in radiance. "Man, I told you that he was," he shoved his friend. That's all right. Hey. Do you need ANYTHING? Are you alright with food? Do you need money?"
I too began to bloom with energy that I thought I already spent. My head was ready to be curt. Inside my shoes my feet were ready not to be ready. I was not prepared to see the largest smiles that I had seen in days. In a few minutes we said our good-byes, and I found that I wish we had talked longer. They were still strangers--but now I wanted to know them. When they smiled I felt good inside. It was a feeling that I couldn't create alone..

In a few hours the buildings fall away enough to give me a hide.