Sunday, Sept. 08, 2002 @ 10:16 pm
Flint and Feather
We hiked up through the foggy forest this morning. Scattered raindrops fell through the trees, sweat stung running into my eyes.
The fog curled through the trees: a wonderland.
The weather changes into the cool, damp brown of autumn. Leaves scatter across the asphalt, already crumbling into that forest floor potpourri.
Grampa, he's crumbling too.
Not yet, Grampa. Hold on.
I'll hike up the mountains with you forever.