Smuggs Chronicle ’14, Day 15: August 8, 2014
The trail is a mix of gravel and dirt. Pine seedlings, high grass and ferns flank it on both sides. Morse mountain starts more evenly than Madonna. Until we come to the first rise....
Short stories & poems for everyone from everyone
The trail is a mix of gravel and dirt. Pine seedlings, high grass and ferns flank it on both sides. Morse mountain starts more evenly than Madonna. Until we come to the first rise....
Gray clouds clinging under the deck rail a string of raindrops what better morning for intimacy? Awake at two in the morning. Restless in bed until after five. Awake again, this time by Frank,...
Madonna rises ahead. The ski lift passes out of sight. Mira and I walked hear all the way from Mountain Laurel 15 via the Meadowlark. Now I wonder what we were thinking. gravel on...
Our self-guided Wike begins with soggy sneakers. Our path emerges from wet, high grasses near the driveway to Mountain Laurels. We find a path to Notchville Park and take the loop down to the...
Mira and I, along with one standoff-ish couple from Alexandria, VA, are the only strangers. Multiple families—friends all—vacation together and came out for this historical Wike. What a compelling start! We set off, crossing...
Cool mountain water surrounds me. The momentum of my dive carries me toward the inflatable trampoline anchored at the swimming area’s far area. Frankie follows me. We climb out of the water and onto...
We pass quickly through the Artisan Shop. The woman late middle aged that sold us our tickets (and still wears her hair long) shows us the hand-crafted plates, cups, etc. Frankie declares himself out...
We drive into Jeffersonville for breakfast. The Mix Café and Bakery had a cozy, quaint décor. But the menu on a chalkboard carried limited—and pricey—breakfast entrees. We return to 58 Main, our perennial favorite....
I watch Mira exit the Pipe Slide at the North Hill Aquatic Center. She flounders in the exit pool, her arms and legs thrashing as her head bobs up and down. My heart skips...
The kettle-corn maker stands outside the Meeting House. I catch a glimpse of vendors inside. People pour in and out. We pass through the Welcome sign to the Village Center and continue up the...
The shuttle bus pulls into a parking lot for the Long Trail somewhere out of Johnston. We stretch, introduce ourselves and set off. Pat sets a pace we weren’t used to. The forest closes...
As the afternoon closes on four, the earlier clouds break apart. The brightest sunlight since Saturday bathes the west end of the deck. Tamarack leaves rustle in a passing breeze. Soon, Frankie will return....