A few words about me

The clouds are very low in the sky and I feel the snow coming. The wind picks up as I start my hike. I put on the snow shoes and strip almost naked. It's too hot for a February day. As I head up, I wonder if those dogs that attacked me in Autumn are still there. Wonder no more, because the sleet starts. The backpack feels heavy and I have an unusual pain that forces me to stop often catching my breath. I sink in the snow and I realize I won't make it to the camp place I had in mind. So I decide to venture out of the trail and find another one. I meet a flock of hinds and stags that check me out. As we look to one another, I feel blessed being there. Just being there, sweating and breathing fresh air and carrying that damn backpack.

I stop. This place is perfect. I can look in the distance and for some reason, the sound of the train somewhere down below comforts my solitude. I suddenly spot a marten besides my camp. He's looking at me for quite some time when I notice him. Scared by my fearsome looks, he takes his ready-for-winter-fat-ass into the woods. I wish he stayed. The sleet delays putting up my small tent. I wait for the evening. The sleet goes on as I take some pictures of the camp and a few of the trees near-by. I go to sleep way too early. I wake up at midnight, melt some snow as I have ran out of water, write a few meaningless words in my notebook, listen to some music and try to sleep again. I'm soon visited by a curious owl. She's prowling my camp site and keeps me company as I fall asleep. Thanks, owl.

6:30 am as I wake up. The sleet has been replaced by wind and the skies are clearing. Except for my sleeping bag, everything is wet as I pack up. The night was even warmer than yesterday. I don't hurry, but I soon realize I might miss my train. I run a short marathon, the train station being the goal. I almost forget the weight I'm carrying, but as I stop in the glory of being there before the train, my back sends me distress signals. The ride warms me up again and I enjoy myself by looking at people waving good-byes to the loved ones in places that time forgot. I arrive home walking slower than the fast paced style during the week. I have with me around ten images on a card that probably takes in five hundred and one that I can keep. Almost empty handed, but with my soul whooping. "Yesterday was a good day", I say to myself. One good day, one decent image, one happy man.

From a little story I wrote a while ago.

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