A Memory Worth Writing About

The night was filled with a misty haze all around me as I walked down the street as far on the Northwest of the State of Oregon as one can reach. I had lingered for too long in Astoria over a four conversation with a gent’ who’d moved there two months prior after going on his own hiking adventure across America’s west. I was 13 miles away from where I had my tent and camp setup and crossed the long bridge westward from Astoria as the glow of Sun’s last light faded into the distance introducing night.

In all of the hundreds of miles I’d spent walking the coast, this was the only happenstance when I began to be conscious of bears and other life-forms bigger than myself which would potentially feel I was intruding upon their territory. Every noise I would hear whispered thoughts of something far more malicious than the squirrel it most likely was.

An hour until reaching my camp, my constantly moving home, it began to rain as it often does in this area, especially at night. I prayed, I sought peace in the midst of this occurance, and went into the mental place of heaven where fear has no place. It worked.

I reached the campgrounds around midnight or so, retired to my tent and that was that. Now a memory I felt worthwhile writing about.

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