Nearly back at my car, I listened to Spirit and retraced my steps to the Haypress Camp trail; seeking the absolute stillness and quiet that’s always nestled there.
A short way up the trail I stood still. I heard a sound—soft and moist—like the exhale of quahogs under the mud, on a steamy summer day on the Westport River. Spirit felt wonder and pleasure.
Mind translated this, a heartbeat later, as a scattering of tiny raindrops plashing on the dust of the trail at my feet.
After the numbness and misery of Monster Cold, pleasure is back.
Maybe there will be enough of me back soon, to promote the book . . .
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