September 29, 1994

The light, from the flame that I can not see, shines in the reflector, and glows on the wind screen.

I sit cross-legged, almost one with the stove, a ball around it.

The trees should glow in a circle around us, but they do not. The stove and I are too close. We give off no light.

The pot, on the stove, eclipses the flames and I lean over and look in. Where there should be fire, there is water.

The warmth of the stove rises to my face, with the smells of past uses. The smell is of fish fry, at the bottomless crystal clear quarry. We, naked, except for masks, chase the fish over,
under,
around
and through, before we hook them,
with worms,
and eat them
with po-ta-toes.
 

3:01:57  53.7 Km  573 Km (riding time, daily distance, trip distance)