The Hike:

The sun is shining, but your sight is bleak.
Stepping over stiff’s, as if they are a pieces of dog crap on the side of the shallow creek.

The sides of the walls are crumbling faster than leaves on a windy autumn evening. The barriers constantly crumble, but seem infinite. The rocks, tumble to our feet and then come to a halt.

Splish. Splash. Splosh. Stepping in slabs of soaked clay. Your boots are soaked, more so than after you jumped off the bridge into the river, after a dare from your brother.
With every step, you feel the water, rising and depleting in your boots. A chill speeds up your spine with each step.

The smell of stagnant, sour, sulfuric, disease infested water fills your snout faster than a skunk,who was startled by a pup. You can’t wash this away with tomato juice, or just run away leaving the slow kid to deal with it.

Having the will to keep going is harder than walking up stream barefoot, while stepping on Zebra Mussels. Physically, I am as weak as a dead pine tree’s branch. Mentally I am as depleted as the deer after hunting season. You have to want it. Frankly, I’m not sure if I want it.