The forest is wet and misty. A dense fog hangs on top of the river like a fluffy blanket. I hear twigs snapping in the distance. A couple of white tail deer are eyeing us with curiosity. In a few days the forest rangers are going to cull the herd. There is not enough acreage to support all the wildlife. My hubby is walking ahead leaning on his Gandalf stick, his silhouette disappearing in the mist. The drizzly rain shapes diamond droplets in my dark hair like a nature’s tiara.
My breathing is labored. I have not been out of the house in two weeks - the flu really sapped my energy. The hard to discern trail winds gently downhill all the way to the railroad bridge that crosses the river. The return will be much harder, going uphill. I watch my steps carefully - the twisted tree roots bulge out of the ground but are hidden underneath a thick cover of dead leaves.
