I enjoyed another leisurely day. I let the hole in my foot set the pace. It is not the largest wound you will ever see but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. It is remarkably deep. I think it reahes to my soul. It is right on the back of my left heel and even when it is behaving it makes me walk rather flat footed on that side which eventually makes the opposite knee unhappy. It sort of zigzags its way up my spine.
You see, it all has to do with that the-thigh-bone-is-connected-to-the-knee-bone jazz. I ain't sure of the physics of it. I just know that if you get one little toe out of line you wind up aching all over. So I barely walked today. And I spent a lot of time staring at the lake. And the sky. And eating desserts made from huckleberries.
I did eventually reach Hope and East Hope, where I stopped at an art gallery cafe and had a lovely bowl of soup. I ain't a big soup eater, as a rule, but it was really good. It had garbanzos in it which is in keeping with my theory that more foods should have garbanzos in them. And there were mushrooms and it was subtly flavored; you could taste each individual vegetable. I also had spinach quiche. And a sandwich. It was all the kind of food I imagine rich people eat. In California.
After lunch I re-bandaged my feet and admired the artwork. I am afraid most of it failed to move me. Then the writer's workshop people came in and we all sipped wine and heard them perform vignettes from their play writing class. It was all very sophistcated. I was in an arists' colony.
Now I suppose I have as much right as anyone to call myself an artist. I have conceived and created and bled. These very sentences came at a cost. And I've always liked the idea of being surrounded by people similarly engaged, who understood the pain of creation. But think I am doomed to solitude. I just have too much to say.
Everyone was nice to me and our charming hostess turned me on to a great campsite. I am as far from the highway as I've ever been, though I am reassured by the odd passing car. I am on a sort of river delta, on what is pretty much an island. It is the Panhandle Wildlife Management Area. I can hear an owl and a great many frogs. Earlier I saw an eagle.
On the way in I met three dudes riding vintage BMW motorcycles. I mean really riding them; these things were beat to crap. Nice looking bikes, though. I wish I had one. I also had a long talk with three fisherman about parole hearings and court-ordered substance abuse counselling. You learn things out here, you do.
Later their friend came. He had a Roman nose. Not like you'd see on coins, exactly. It was a lesser Roman nose. Perhaps broken. Like one of those Romans who came in and cleaned up the coliseum after the lions were through with the Christians. Anyway, he was a bear hunter and told me that if I didn't move my tent I could be eaten by a cougar. Apparently I was on the exact sort of spot where cougars most like to eat people.
I moved my tent. And now I have cougars to add to my list of scary scary animals. You learn things out here.
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