Lawrenceburg, TN Empty Pockets

Betty Dunbar has just shown up as planned, to exchange alot of gear, also to take me to lunch, and to REI so I can buy all the toys needed to walk into the sun. My pockets have been empty for a long time physically as well as mentally. I noticed with my feet still moving. I noticed when the dogs came to bite. When face after face ask me if I have been robbed yet, have I been beaten yet, has anyone tried to take My Life yet, I began to sleep lighter in the trees at night. My boots worry every truck past. For weeks I have been pushing my hands into my pockets to try to put my fingers around all the reasons that I keep walking...I have been finding less and less to put my hands on. Stowic faces have begun to wash over faces that were light.
Rare has become the voice that asks me to describe water coming through the trees at night as snow comes into the mountains. Nobody asks me to tell them where breathing is the easiest, or people are the nicest. It would be impossible to recall the last state resident that lifted me up with stories about how southern souls will take me home, and share their world with me. In the evening I am told to put my head down and hide well. People are always talking about quick guns, crossing property lines make blood shine, and how my last breath will be spent here if I am just a little less than careful.

I swallow hard, careful that nobody sees. For days into weeks I held my jaw firm as my mind spoke about bears I've met that left me with the living. Winter has come and gone with my feet in snow for weeks without a break. Still , I have my toes and fingers. It is true though, the dripping of water on my skull will drive me mad eventually. There has been no one voice above all the others that hammer my feet to a stop. I am slowed by the drip of the hammer that has nothing good to say when I walk into a diner with the sun a red hot torch on my face. The walk is a relationship. A relationship is an account of sorts. Withdrawals can only be made when deposits are also being made, i.e. a hug at the coffe shop is a good trade for a day of rain combined with a dog that ALMOST bit me. I was born to trade. It is my very nature.

It is beyond good to see an old friend drive into the Davy Crockett State Park with hands waving. All of my new gear leans against the backseat window eager to see the walker. The heat is already in the south. Tasks that I knew how to do when it was colder/and warmer I have to learn to do all over again. Now I do not hand out my walkcard as soon as I begin talking to a stranger. I listen to words said, unsaid. When I pass a creek I go down to the water and stay until someone younger in me is ready to leave.