To Make Believe Out of Nothing

There’s a pioneer scented trail moving from somewhere in Pittsburgh’s East End into a distance, for certain, but an end point not particularly fashionable yet. At least not with the current facts, and even if they exist, it would be hard to find them when you’re not particularly looking. It’s the difference between going somewhere and exploring; a destination and a nice walk through the neighborhood. I can peddle myself a yarn easily enough over the possibilities, though…

It’s a clear and thick morning mist over our own personal piece of the small lake stretching out from between the thick of brush on either side that lays perfectly still save for the occasional eating of mosquitos or inquisitive fish. A Minnesota marsh is about as green as they come, that Kelly green that is typically reserved only for animation or felt cross-shaped bookmarks for your grade school Bible. We’ve been here for the past week and only now that Thursday’s rolled around and what with the long weekend and all, people are starting to fill in the gaps around the other end of the lake. The larger part of me loved being the only ones in the entire park, alone with nothing but three of us, the zombie quiet creaking of crickets, and the loosely latched aluminum door of the RV. Even still, the lake’s far side dotted with yellow and red tents and spending an evening watching more and more fires glow up into the night will been well spent.

But the time for sitting around fires and sipping wines and trying to convince one another to get into some karaoke or figuring out who’s going to finally get the frisbee down from the tree Tristan threw it into on Tuesday will come later. For now, I propose we walk picnic-backed into the lush until we’re sufficiently stink with sweat, and reckon what these poor woods can do.

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