It's the Little Things

Days Walking - 4

Breakfast has been successfully ingested. Urg. Let's not speak of it again, or I may get a second look. My nose is stuffy today. I have popped an extra Echinacea with breakfast, let's hope I don't get sick so early into the trek. Damn, I mentioned the 'B' word.

Just deleted five paragraphs that made no sense. Trust me, you're better off without them.

I'm watching the cursor blink. Words not coming. Am trying too hard. Am also thinking like William Shatner talks. Must. Break. Free.

Okay I'm better now. Yes, it is the little things, the small wonders the teeny miracles in life that grab you by the ears and shake you clean like a rug peppered with schmootz.

I woke up pretty depressed this morning. I think I'm losing weight. Shouldn't that make me happy? But no, feeling yucky. So I got up, inspected my pallid gray flesh for frostbite or nursing baby seals, and declared myself free of infestation. After bundling up, I intrepided off to take care of the morning business of - ahem - elimination.

I took maybe ten steps away from the shelter when I saw something on my boot. Stuck to the bottom, that is. It was colorful. Now, let me preface this a bit - you have to realize that at this latitude, there are no trees. So all day long we're looking at a lot of white white nothing. Tundra is what they call it in these parts. So on my boot is a gorgeous splash of color, and it's not poo. It's orange and its jaggedy and sure enough, it's an autumn leaf.

"...There are millions of leaves on the ground, Lit" - you say patiently, thinking that the snow and the ice have whittled my IQ down, like a little duck carved from soap. No! You see, - quack - there are no deciduous trees - quack - for miles and miles and miles. Deciduous means, like a pretty, flat leaf from say, a maple. If there were trees, they'd be Coniferous. Little needles. Like a pine tree.

So there's a pretty leaf on my boot that should not be there, like fish on Mars. And I take this as a sign that I need to cheer up, damn it. So I held my need to pee and returned to the shelter. The leaf is now safe and protected in a ziplock baggie and I will take it home with me one day and have it carbon dated.

"...Leaves blow in the wind, Lit" - you say impatiently, "sometimes for hundreds of miles" - thinking I'm a moron. Maybe. But I'll take my colorful good omens where-ever I can find them.

Litany Webb, signing off.

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