The time is almost 10am. 9:45 to be exact. How lazy I am. The camp is clean. The sun is shinning. I have three more weeks in this beauty. The ground under my tent is soft and it seems warmer. I may have more of a chance to see wild life. The work of beavers teeth are on the trees but I have seen no beaver yet. The dragon flies are aggressive.
I came to the forest to be healed. The trees, water and sky took my sickness away. The wildlife, too, conspired to make me well. The weather is windy and dry, not warm enough.
At 1:45 I had walked up to the intersection of trails at the mouth of the Warms Springs entrance. A man came out of the woods, a very friendly man named John. He stopped to chat about his week hiking, he had spent the night at Warms Springs River and told me how beautiful it was. At this time I imagined it much different than I found it two years later.
Around two G-Q came out of the forest, an Israelite who started from the California/Mexico border in April-he told me that about 500 start from down there and half that make it to Canada. He had a flippant attitude about water safety, he made some remark about running the water through a bandana. Then an hour later a perky young yuppy hiking from Ashland spoke briefly. She was all business, said her name was Rachel. A very nice women and very much on her way. No gab.
I drempt last night about oatmeal with raisons, nuts and milk. I have this meal and I wondered that I wouldn't dream about stuffed turkey instead.
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