Chest In Snow

Passing through charming Eatonville where nearly everyone says hello and the rain goes unnoticed. Homes are lively colors and nature moves its hand in and out of yards. The snow in the last pass is behind me now and I regroup. It was an old granular snow that graveled repeatedly into my boots to soak my sock. The road narrowed as the plows loss a hold and the white line that held my route was buried along with the guard rails/
Earlier I gave a completion date. It was written in snow. There is no logic now except I still move under clouds toward a town that is making me work for the knowing of it. Once I either get to the little town of Roslyn, or surrender to lost trails I will give a more accurate date to hit Cape Flattery. This is the walk...the walk takes me.