Far away places smell like a forest full of wild strawberry in the Spring. Being chased by honey bees, red rock mark the path so you don't get lost. I go off the path. Mushroom hunting on the plateau, slime mold on the rotten logs, slick with decay, painted skies and God blest each yellow blade of winter grass. No other place I'd like to be. Zero people. New waterproof hiking boots, almost ready to go, health permitting, going anyway, plan on giving my ash and bones to the soil and lake anyway. Even got a new backpack. A fancy headlamp and a new kit. Just waiting on my hat to arrive in some haggard UPS truck, gotta look stylish, I gave up on seeing a Sasquatch to be honest, but I'll be on the lookout. I know they are out there. Passport and frozen feet, sunglasses, no rooftop tip-toeing, but I'm just one uncle Walt Whitman barbaric yawp away. O Captain! My Captain! ..hope I don't forget my nasal spray.