When the white was high, the Bald Man made us trenches. So for to easily get to the important places. But in the event of an emergency—like a critter sighting or chase—we would just dart across the white anyway, as warriors are wont to do.

Now the trenches have become trails. And the rain has turned the hard to soft.

And so we stand at this crossroads of mush and mud.

Brave. Heroic. Fearful of nothing in this mid-winter silence.

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