A Walk in The Woods

on Thursday, March 26, 2009

I spilled water on my journal. When I saw the ink starting to run down the page I was upset, but now that the pages have dried and yellowed a bit, the moleskin has a worn, rugged feel to it that I quite like. The pages seem to have been read a hundred times and they sound like crunchy autumn leaves...I love timing my steps right to get the chance to crunch those wrinkly leaves...similar to getting the three entwined potato chips in a bag. There is something about that crispy texture and the sound that it makes. I imagine it's the same sensation that an obsessive compulsive would feel at those integral moments that keep them from losing their sanity. The triumph...that sense of accomplishment from such a ridiculous, tiny habit that you get to line up and knock down....wait...am I obsessed with crunchiness? Nevermind...

My journal....I can't believe its been a week...a couple of days ago we went back up to our old campus. Everything seems even smaller than I remember. Kids waiting outside the college bar....drunk at noon with piles of books in hand, cherry lollipops, rolled cigarettes, foul mouths and rubbernecks. I want to punch each of them directly in the mouth. No, that's extreme. They just seem so naive. Then I remember, I was outside that same bar 4 years ago not giving a shit about what anyone thought. Booking flights to Amsterdam in the library with Rick, taking the train to Liverpool together for Thorntons ice cream, playing musical chairs in the common room...part of me still can not believe we met so far away from home and made it back together.

We went on a 12 mile hike yesterday to Parbold and got a chance to hang out with some sheep and a couple bulls. The public footpaths go right through their favorite places to graze. I feel bad walking in on them, but they really don't seem to mind, they continue with lunch...chewing like old men without there teeth in...mouth wide open, jaw moving sloppily from side to side. A momma sheep was eating with the kids...they couldn't have been more than a week old with knobby knees and wobbly steps. A big "19" spray painted in blue on both their backs. Farmer graffiti. Pheasants everywhere...they are pretty skiddish and take off like the road runner when you get within 20 feet. The Fairy Glen hike was about 3 miles through a creepy forest where everything, again, is covered in moss. The wind was so strong it was actually tough to walk at some spots but it wasn't loud enough to drowned the sound of the waterfalls and hundreds of Magpies. Magpies are cleptomaniacs. A small black and white bird that actually seeks out and thieves shiny objects. We weren't attacked but I could feel them sizin me up...

Tried thumbin' a ride home but just got some dodgy stares and old women shakin' their heads in shame at us. Just when we'd lost hope, a bus to Ormskirk pulled up...we were ready for the driver to be dressed in purple with a top hat and loads of candy...but he was just an old bus driver. Back at the flat, Marty greets us with "We were thinkin' a fish fry for dinner?" YES! Fish, Chips in vinegar, Mushy peas....beddy bye.

Off to Rome, gotta be at the airport for 4am. Looks like rain but we head to Naples mid-week and get on our first farm just outside Riccia. http://www.boscomerrone.it/index_EN.php


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