Walking along a trail, quiet solitude for company, I am greeted by the sounds of nature. Wait, the building hidden behind the trees is heating up so there’s the fan of that. And then, overhead a C5 ducks amongst the clouds. And then, what’s that? A truck? On the same path?

A sigh, finally silence. Rushing water, quacking ducks.

Time to think and wonder. And an odd thought hits me, so real, so true. It’s uncomfortable. Like wearing skin on a humid summer day. I have to laugh. It would be ironic, wouldn’t it? Not to do the very thing I write about. To become great at writing about it, but not about doing it?

Well, that would just be darned perfect.

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