Tuesday, July 25, 2017 (Day 83)
I could not sleep last night. Slumber did not greet me until well after 3 am. I began hiking at 9:38 am. There is a thick grey sky of clouds, mild temperatures, rushing of cars, bird song. The stream beside me, rushing at below 500 ft, collects foam in its nooks and crannies.
I watch a flock of birds in a circular dance near the earth. They are joined by another flock and off in to the distant sky they soar.
I graze on a breakfast of red raspberries. I determine that they are far superior to the blackberries.
I cross the Pennsylvania Turnpike.
Focusing intently on the various shapes and sizes and placement of stones beneath my feet, so as not to stumble, I rather forcefully hit my head on a substantial tree limb. I let out a small whimper and hold my head for a moment in foolish amusement, then onward.
I cross interstate 81, farmlands sprawling about me.
I cross through yet another corn field. Curious I pull a young ear from its stalk and eat. It tastes fresh. There are so many! Thousands upon thousands! How can one harvest these…how is it done!?
It is 10:27 pm. I am cowboy camping on a lawn beneath a clear dark Pennsylvania sky. I am in Duncannon. There is a pastor here that opens the basement of his home, and a pavillion, and a side yard to hikers.
I can see that the clouds are not heavy, but sweetly painted and slightly hazy, rosy in the distance. They roll in to one another, like a wispy, slow-galloping herd.
And alas! I can see the stars!
what a splendid way to bid the day farewell.