Misty morning

Yeah! I’ve slept in! It’s 5:45 when I wake, rush to the bathroom, stretch and then begin my morning jog.

The whole area is covered with a filmy fog so fine, shapes shimmer even more indefinite then without my glasses.

Deer aren’t aware of me until I’m so close I can determine, even with my poor eyesite, which are the babies, which the mamas before they take off, their bushy white tails like stiff flags held upright behind them.

Even the piercing calls of the crows sound muted and surreal. Huge drops laden with the morning's abundant moisture plop with an uneven beat from off the tall trees, softly thudding to the blanketed ground as I run by.

Through the gauzy pale grey, I can make out the silhouette of the ‘c’ moon, c for ceasing, high in the eastern sky. And a sadness momentarily sweeps thru me at the loss of this brilliant and precious nite lite that has accompanied me all this time here, even while I know she will return soon.

And even while I anticipate being able to see more stars tonite!

 By 7:00 I am finished with my jog, making and eating my breakfast, checking the bathrooms, chatting with a male camper while I inform him, “no, you cannot smoke in the bathrooms – and by the way, please don’t leave your butts all over for me to pick up.”

As I walk away, I wonder if I have to/should have told him NOT to throw his butts down the toilet while I was telling him not to throw them on the ground.

He is a soft-eyed, friendly, smiling old white boy, gnarled, deeply wrinkled & tanned, not missing as many teeth as his friend, speaking so gently with a southern accent so pronounced I lean forward and focus hard to understand what he is saying.

I wonder again if he is as non-violent, as easy-going as he appears. Or if he’s been pre-warned to tread softly! I hear there’s a wife, but I haven’t seen any evidence of one. Maybe she a hardy soul who works with them, leaving early in the morning and returning after dark.

He’s been working replacing, fixing, and installing water pipes in all the national forests in Alabama. For 8 years now. He smiles broadly and shyly as he claims he has the best job because he’s an “outdoorsman”.

I nod, agreeing, saying I am too.

I’m procrastinating. I need to work on the writer’s grant I’m going to apply for. The deadline in November 15 – thanks to Sandy, it was the 1^st – so I have to get in gear.

And I haven't studied my espanol yet either!