As usual, I am sitting up pretty high.
If I said it was easy getting up on this ridge, I would absolutely be lying to you. This lack of mobility, harder to get where I want to go thing is getting worse, not better. I am going to have to do something about it, too, but that is a sermon for another day.
It’s nice up here. I have a good view of a big stretch of jumbled-up landscape in the Appalachians that would take the starch out of the most rabid turkey hunter. Turkeys are earned here by blood, sweat and tears. Mostly sweat.
But for now, sitting here quietly in a spot I found that is actually almost comfortable, it’s pretty nice. I may or may not hear the reluctant gobble of a turkey I heard twice an hour ago. He is far below me, and I know I may not even be able to get to his zip code. Anyway, I am content to just sit and listen. The cardinals, a wood thrush and a towhee provide wonderful songbird background music. I take in the concert I paid for by climbing up here.
This quiet reverie is nice, but as usual it causes me to drift into thinking about many things. Some of which I don’t really want to.