So Far Behind

6 Dec 2005 Clinton,N.J.

Weeks fall through the cracks. It is not that I don't write. I write too much. Libriaries are too few along the roads I walk. The apples that I was constantly given in New York have ceased. They were wonderful,but I guess my eyes are more hollow now, or they scream, "feed me". After two days without much to eat, I am given soup, coffee, power bars, crackers, snickers, and pretzels all from a little dinner/store called Top Of The Hill, on the house. We swapped cards, but I wanted to do more than grin like a fool through weathered lips. I'll send a proper thank you when I can.

Snow has found me several nights in a row. It is all new when I step from my shelter like a bear, and everything that was yesterday is painted glorious white. The ten degree air is all around me sniffing like a dog. I can't believe outside is even colder than the ice box of my tent. My new boots by Vasque find that they leak like canvas sneakers. This falls in the not so good section of my week. With hunting season throwing lead over my tent before the sun is above the treeline first thing in the morning, and last thing of the day, I could have way more to complain about than leaking boots...like my belly leaking. I keep my head down in the foxhole, and pray just as I did in my army days before I jumped out those not so perfectly good airplanes.

Libraries are gold for this project, but computers have time limits set. There is so much to write up. Trusting that more libriaries are over the next hill, I will bring you up to speed as time permits. I'm still out here. Still walking.