all around my hat, for a twelve month and a day

Coarse, gray cement smells dusty in the sun. It rolls out unevenly in front of us blending into the sky in the shimmer at a distance. We walk for many hours. Feet sore. Throats dry and voiceless. A rusty chain link fence eight feet high runs parallel to our path, anchored in the sandy soil silently. Rusting. Slowly. Quiet.

The fence posts offer tempting shade where some insects congregate in the weeds and sand. But the long, cool, shifting bands of shade are too small for humans. No other shade in sight. Perfectly endless concrete we walk.

One foot in front of the other. Plodding. Sorely. Blisters burn buried below. Lips sliced through by dryness and sun, a mosaic of scabs. Slicing pain radiates into my dry mouth. Itself cracking, caking dust. Wheezing.

The concrete crumbles slowly, giving way to sand and dirt and concrete mixed together. It crunches and shifts underneath our feet. The fence rolls up and runs away rusty. Squeaking and scared.

No concrete now, just sandy and soil and chaparral rocks. Mesquite. Up and around the corner. Cliff dwellings wall off black holes in the rock. Bushes grow to trees and shake their limbs at us. How were we to know? We had to come this way, no other way to...proceed. Promise to go.

Large forest now with real soil moist. Cool breeze blows hair and mist on dry lips. Water falling in the distance. Plunge pools and mist. Clear cold water falling. Diving. In.

Here are some pictures from the end of my spring break. I thought I had more. But I don't.

Downtown Sylva North Cackalack. Click for bigger.