Sunday August 23rd, 2015

The exercise:

Today's writing shall involve something or someone that is: washed away.

I was so distracted by the smoke yesterday that I actually managed to forget about the "highlight" (infuse as much sarcasm as you possibly can) of my day. So let me correct that oversight real quick.

After I finished packing the last of the produce on to the truck in the morning, I drove down the driveway and turned onto the dirt road that connects the farm to the nearest paved road. Once I reached that one, I drove past the mailboxes where we get our mail, went around the corner and... what is that?

Oh, I see. It's a skunk. In the middle of the road.

So I stopped the truck. Because I really didn't want to run over it. But I didn't stop far enough away (I guess?) and instead of moving off the road... it came right at me.

I lost sight of it for a few seconds, so I backed up (this is 6:15 in the morning by the way). Then I realized it was beside the truck so I put it in drive and hit the gas.

Too late, of course. By that time it had sprayed the truck. I hoped, with little actual hope, that an hour of driving at mostly highway speeds would clear out the smell. It did not.

I'd say it was about 50% of my customers at the start of the market who commented on the smell. Then I hit a good couple of hours without anyone mentioning it and I began to hope that I was the only who still noticed it. And then another group of people said something about smelling skunk.

Good times.

On the way home I stopped to fill up at a gas station and took the windshield washer squeegee thing to the front right area of the truck but I'm not that it made much of a difference.

Hey, at least I got a prompt out of it.

Mine:

I know that I am being followed. This is not paranoia. There are people with very good reasons to pursue me. I am not ashamed to admit this. It is, after all, why I am out here in the first place.
 
These woods provide shelter and the wildlife here is my sustenance. I am safe here, hidden beyond the reach of those who wish to do me harm.

Or so I thought.

With my pack on my back I am following this trail as it leads me up into the surrounding mountains. At the end of every clearing I pause to drink from my water bottle and to look back. I have yet to see anyone behind me but that does not mean I am alone out here. No, it simply means that my pursuer is careful. Patient. Professional.

I continue on. I have no choice. There are no branches to take - only one dirt path stretches out before me. I do not wish to meet whoever is back there. So I keep putting one foot in front of the other, content in the knowledge that my lead will not be challenged in the coming days. Not as long as I keep moving.

What's this? The maps I consulted before setting out had no mention of a bridge here, much less a river that required a bridge to traverse it.

And they certainly said nothing about the bridge being washed away...